by Dollface

Owen woke with a start, gasping for breath, as he finally clawed himself free from his nightmare.

His whole body tensed, arms fixed at his sides and fingers grasping desperately for his sheets as he swam to consciousness. Relief first washed over him as he realized he’d been stuck in a dream. Although, it wasn’t just a dream, but a nightmare he thought had finally gone away after plaguing him for months. He thought he was free from it, that perhaps it was a phase, rather than a premonition of his future. But the frequency of it was hard to debate.

When you dream about being followed from some willowy, dark, generally creepy figure as you run and run and run until you reach a cliff that looks down into pure nothingness, you start to believe that maybe something or someone is after you.

He was just paranoid, he told himself. There was nothing he had ever done exactly to make him a target… but he knew his existence in and of itself wasn’t favored by all.

You see, Owen was… different. That was the word he liked to use if he were to describe himself. When he was young, he’d felt different, like he was not quite sick but not quite well, either. For some time, he felt this constant tension in his. Like something was just dying to break out of him. His palms would itch and his teachers constantly complained to his Aunt that he was fidgety, or that he could never pay attention in class. His Auntie managed to brush those comments off, and he was never in trouble for it – but that was because she knew.

Sometimes he felt like she would watch him. Waiting. Not in fear or wariness, but in anticipation. It was drawn out of him slowly, and by the littlest things. There was one morning he woke early before her, and he wandered into the kitchen, sleepy but wanting a bowl of cereal to eat while he watched the morning cartoons. But the stool was nowhere to be found and he didn’t want to disturb Aunt Dahlia, and when he stared longingly to the top of the cabinet where the Frosted Flakes were, they toppled down onto counter with a thunk.

This was probably the smallest of his offenses.

When Owen was ten, an older boy tried to pick on him for his “orphan” status and a bad haircut. He’d kept his head low, not uttering a word or lifting a finger, but his anger boiled and boiled and eventually he sent the kid flying backwards and into the set of lockers across the hallway. He didn’t seriously hurt the other boy, but it was enough for his suspension.

It didn’t take long before his aunt insisted they move, and on their road trip, she explained to him the magic that coursed through him and the responsibilities that came along with it. As they drove, he thought of something. He’d been told already that his aunt never knew who his father was exactly, that he hadn’t been around by the time he was born. His mother, though, he had a very vague memory of her before her death when he was barely three years old. Because he was young, he was never given any fleshed out reason, he didn’t need to know the details. He’d been told that sometimes, bad things happen to even the best of people, whatever that was supposed to mean.

There was no doubt he thought of his mother often. A lot of times he was sure that her presence was somewhere near, like when he felt especially lonely or plagued by how she’d been taken from him so young. Not to mention, his aunt was the only family he really had around. She didn’t speak of her own parents often, and if she had any other siblings or contact with anyone else, he was none the wiser. It was just the two of them, and as he eventually grew older, Owen was able to make friends that were just as good as family anyway.

Over the years, as he honed his abilities – being especially proficient in being able to move objects without a touch, and mostly with the will of a simple thought – he grew confident to ask the truth of what happened to his mother.

“There are people that don’t favor us,” Dahlia replied quietly. “Some, who are stronger, are… I don’t know. Seen as a threat I suppose. They can see too much. They might know too much.”

He thought about what he knew of his mother. He’d learned that she was quite good at learning things about people if she made physical contact with them or a personal object. She had dreams and premonitions of the future, both big and small, that plagued her. Mostly, he wondered if she knew that she was going to die so young.

That was the thought that haunted him, especially when his own nightmares with the stalking figure leading him to the edge of a cliff had started. Having premonitions in general, and reading them, wasn’t entirely his strong suit. Every now and then he’d see flashes of something happening – like spilling a hot cup of coffee on himself on his trek for work – and it would actually happen! But when he had that dream about winning the lottery, moving out of his shitty apartment? It wasn’t in the cards.

Instead he was just lucky enough to have that impending feeling of dread following him just about everywhere. That fidgety feeling from when he was younger had returned to the surface. He’d become somewhat paranoid, thinking he was being watched by someone or something, especially when he was alone. Every other week his Aunt insisted on visiting and cleansing the apartment, he would take her to lunch, and then she’d tell him about some new pretty psychic girl she knew who was just too perfect for him. When the nightmare had subsided, he’d felt confident enough to go on a couple of dates, but neither of them amounted to more than that.

Now that the nightmare had returned, his resolve was completely shaken. Still, he hadn’t managed to drag himself out of bed. He’d closed his eyes again, trying to bring to mind a tranquil image to calm him. He breathed deeply, inhaling and exhaling slowly, before he pulled himself from the covers to sit on the edge of the bed. He reached to the right towards his nightstand, his phone moving effortlessly into his hand as he checked his messages.

From his aunt: Are you ok??

He chuckled to himself. It arrived fifteen minutes ago, meaning she must have sensed – or seen – something. He tapped out a quick reply in which he told her nothing but the truth. Over the years, he learned that there was absolutely no chance he could lie to her.

The second message was from Thomas, sent the night before: You better be coming out with us tomorrow night!

For now, he left it alone, and got up to ready himself for the day, trying to forget what had plagued him while he slept. The warm water helped to ease the tension from his muscles. He dressed, set up a pot of decaf coffee, mentally going through the things he had to do for the day. His aunt messaged him again, asking if she could come by to burn her sage and then they could go out to lunch. There was no turning her down, so he replied to her before getting back to his friend about later that evening.

Truthfully, Owen wasn’t sure how he felt about going out just yet. Sometimes, his friends were just as insistent as his aunt about bringing girls around to try and fix him up with. Thomas and his fiancée, Marianne, had been together for years, while Lucas generally had a revolving door of girlfriends that lasted a month or so here and there, depending on his mood. Their favorite thing to do was to surprise him with a friend of Marianne’s, or a gal one of Lucas’ girls knew, giving him absolutely no warning.

Sometimes the niggling feeling that something was just going to be plain wrong with the night might tip him off there’d be a surprise guest, but he didn’t always pay attention. That niggling feeling could always mean something else entirely, like a flat tire, bad weather, or terrible food. The options were endless. Apparently, death might have been on the menu as well.

Owen went about his day as normal as he possibly could. Dahlia arrived in the early afternoon to cleanse the apartment, and then they went out to their usual diner for burgers and fries. From there, they parted ways, and he went about his Saturday on his own. Later on, while he got ready to head out to see his friends, he felt off again. Almost like he was walking around blatantly ignoring something extremely important; like he was pretending. This was the truth to some degree, because the good majority of people in his life didn’t know what he could do. Not in a serious manner, at the very least, he just seemed to be particularly good with his ‘hunches’ and ‘intuition’ as his friends liked to call it.

The group met downtown for dinner. Thankfully, he got to fly solo that night, likely because they were celebrating Thomas’ birthday, and events like that they tried to keep a little more exclusive. Owen especially didn’t want to deal with the awkwardness that came along with a first date, a blind date, and he was thankful that it seemed like nobody else wanted it either.

After a couple of drinks that warmed them up at dinner, it was decided they’d head down the street to another lounge for a few more. Normally, at this point in the night, Owen might be a wet blanket and end the night early. Drinking had this way of muddling with his abilities, bringing down his defenses and making him more vulnerable than he’d like to be. But he wanted to enjoy a night out for once, forgetting the nightmare that was following him around again. Even as they walked a couple of block, Owen couldn’t shake the sense of being watched. He felt his heart rate pick up just slightly, paranoia kicking in, but any time he tipped his eyes over his shoulders to sneak a glance at who was around, he realized there was no use. Downtown was busy on a Saturday night as usual, and from what he could tell no one was even paying a lick of attention to him. Inhaling a tight breath, he gave a shake of his head to himself as he trailed into the lounge behind his group of friends. Paranoid. He was just being paranoid.

Re: it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

Posted: Sun Mar 12, 2017 5:28 pm

by Simply

“Again.” The voice was harsh, but a kindness lingering behind it well hidden in the tone. Marie addressed a young girl before her, who was lingering between innocence and womanhood. The recipient of those commands was scrawny, all limbs and forehead acne.

“Nothing is going to change this time!” Eliza responded, disgruntled, stamping her feet in a more childish fashion than girls her age typically acted. “I’m not any good at this.”

“Again.” The command was followed by a snort but not backlash. Light brown eyes focused intently on a metal knife, resting on a fully aluminum table. The weapon began to rattle slightly without physical provocation, but clearly that was not the intended movement. A discouraged grunt exited the young woman and she turned away from the object. Her eye color was ever-changing shifted towards hazel as Eliza focused on the pale beige walls of the relatively barren room. These sessions taxed her mentally and physically. She would slip into her bed at night, a moment would pass, and she would be dragged to school and then to after-hours classes.

“I can’t do this.”
“You can.” The middle-aged woman responded, crossing her arms in front of her.
“No I can’t! I am struggling with things the toddlers can do, Marie! I don’t have powers.”
“They are just delayed. They will come in time.”
“I’m thirteen! Jack can already move twice his weird and height and I’m older than him by a year.” Desperation seeped into Eliza’s voice.
“It will happen.”

To this, the girl rolled her eyes and stomped away from the table, her instructor and the small object she couldn’t even lift in the air with her abilities. Eliza plopped all her body weight onto a stool. Feet rested on the highest rung and she dropped her chin into her hands, defeated. All of the other members of the coven her age were far superior in their talent and control. Eliza was subjected to classes with the six-year-olds and it had become such an embarrassment that The Circle had handed her over to Marie, as a last ditch effort to draw something out of her. If unsuccessful, Eliza would be relegated to administrative duties for the group – or worse, encouraged to seek employment beyond their walls. Become a doctor or lawyer or something mediocre in comparison with the people she grew up with. The idea frightened her, but even her fear would not draw her powers forth.

Marie uncrossed her arms and frowned slightly, her eyes the only indication that she had stopped listening to the child. On occasion, Eliza showed great potential but it had never manifested in a setting that could be replicated. Everyone had thought she was just a slow learner, someone that took more one-on-one attention. For nearly eleven months that had proved futile. With a flash, Marie’s focus returned and with it the knife flew across the room towards Eliza with alarming accuracy for her hunched shoulders.

Eliza’s head darted upwards at the glint of metal and she threw up her hands, protecting her face. The knife nearly froze, barely creeping forward towards the palms of her hands. Surprised registered in the girl’s eyes and then irritation and anger flickered across her brow as her eyebrows knitted together. The knife shattered then, falling to the ground as mere particles of silver dust. “What the fu-?” Her gaze turned to her teacher, who was smiling broadly.

“I do not know why I didn’t see it before.” She clasped her hands together. “Also, language. We don’t tolerate foul mouths here.”
“Are you kidding?! You just tried to kill me!”
The older woman waved her hand about. “I never would have let it touch you but that clears up quite a few things.”
“What?! That occasionally I get lucky and don’t die?!” Incredulous, she tossed up her hands and headed towards the door.

“No. You’re quite powerful, actually but somehow you’re repressed.” She ran her hand in Eliza’s general direction. “We shall have Claudene take another look at you,” she referenced the head healer of The Circle, “she wasn’t looking for something like this.”

Something like this turned out to be the most remarkable lock on abilities that The Circle had ever encountered. After extensive testing and rigorous examinations, it was determined that Eliza had a barrier hiding her magic, protecting it for some reason they could not discern. It only came to life to ensure her survival. She was never harmed, never hurt. She could not recall since the age of eleven having even bled or cut her finger on a piece of paper. Things had just occurred that she had considered lucky. Now, however, the girl had an understanding of what it was and what she could do with it if she just considered tasks and objectives as aspects of her own survival. The training she endured and beyond had molded her into a forced to be reckoned with. At twenty, she had completed college among mortals and excelled in physical combat. No one could touch her, with mind or with hand. She was, in essence, invincible.

That made her The Circle’s best candidate for…exterminations.

The Circle possessed a very rigid set of rules. Abilities were regulated and put to use by the group with the objectives of ensuring the survival of gifted individuals, hiding them from the mortals around them and prosperity of its members. Another was that every seer would be laid to rest. Since 1813, psychics were forbidden. It was a nasty bit of history that was best left in the past but its legacy lived on. Seers were not permitted to live. By 1860 The Circle had declared the eradication of such individuals. Yet, this was just the ease the mind of the gifted populace under their authority. Every few years, a Finder would sense that one had reached their potential and stepped into their power. At that point, they would send an exterminator, someone to execute The Circle’s will and ensure no one was wiser.

Presently, Eliza had eliminated three threats to The Circle’s established rule. The first mission succeeded without so much as a whimper in the night. It had gone surprisingly well – beginner’s luck some would call it. The second had resulted in a house fire, but she was steadily getting the hang out it. She never questioned the orders they handed to her or the individuals that they directed her towards. They were threats to their way of life, her way of life. She would not let anyone destroy the family that she had built and who had shaped her. She had never known her parents and The Circle had always been where she was raised, as long as her memory was. She did not harbor any sadness or curiosity about her parents. It happened frequently, that gifted children from gifted families were left in their care when they were unwanted. Eliza had been well educated, traveled and was cultured in a few languages even.

It was at times like this that she often reminisced on her good fortune. A new task was bestowed upon her and as she walked the streets at night, following behind her target at a distance, Eliza felt the thrill of a hunt. The descriptors had been: Owen Sterling, twenty-eight, handsome, orphan (mother exterminated by The Circle fifteen years prior). There were more, but the only one she needed to know was that he was a psychic and had to be removed. Unfortunately, the night chosen after a week of surveillance had yielded a part of some kind for one of his friends. It was unlikely that she would be able to complete her mission this evening, but perhaps she could make it easier on herself. Inserting herself into his life was a tactic that Eliza did well. She wore different personalities like people did clothes. This particular adaptability permitted her to excel in her field.

Eliza dined by herself at the bar of the restaurant, occasionally casting an eye in their direction, but careful to not draw attention by flirting with the financial adviser next to her. As the company paid for their bill, she slipped to the restroom and refreshed her face. Light make-up, nothing too extravagant based on the girls that he and his friends carried on with. Her shirt was low cut but not trashy, a tasteful peblum with skinny black jeans and black booties – perfect for a night out on the town. She gathered her jacket and headed out the door behind them, pretending to text as she walked. She still did so as she entered the lounge behind them. The music was louder here, but not intolerable. As she aged, she found loud dance clubs less comfortable and more annoying. She watched them, gathering drinks and sipping them. The outskirts of the lounge she lurked, making small conversations here and there until a suitable amount of time passed. Owen was returning with another drink, headed back to his group. This was her chance. Walking swiftly, she was faux texting on her phoe before she turned to sout something back to someone that did not exist.

“Yes I know, just one sec-” She bumped into his arm, yet not the one holding his newly acquired beverage. Her phone clattered to the ground and she rushed to apologize. “I am so sorry. Wasn’t watching where I was going.” She leaned down, not looking at him yet, appearing drunk when she was not even slightly. She picked up her phone and wiped it on the side of her pants as her now green eyes flickered up to him. “Did I spill your drink? I can get you another. Again, I’m so sorry. I know I look like a hot college mess but I promise those days are behind me.” Eliza laughed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with her free hand.

Re: it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

Posted: Sun Mar 12, 2017 10:10 pm

by Dollface

Once inside of the lounge with a drink, Owen managed to calm himself a little. They were lucky enough to snag a booth that sat along the perimeter of the lounge so they could enjoy their drinks and people watch. Near the back, there was a DJ spinning, but the music was loud to the point that they were talking over each other and everyone else in the lounge just to have a conversation. It was a little more low-key than the places they’d frequented when they’d been in college.

As he worked on his beer, he let his attention wander from the conversation and instead trailed his gaze over the lounge. It didn’t hurt for him to be aware of his surroundings, just in case. But no one seemed out of the ordinary – just a little too drunk for how early in the evening it seemed. He wasn’t one to judge, though, considering he was buzzed, on his third drink of the night so far, and was gearing up for a fourth. There was a voice in the back of his mind telling him that he didn’t need to, he probably shouldn’t, but how often did he get to do this? The older they got, it was harder for all of them to get together, and Owen genuinely wanted to enjoy himself.

With that, Owen excused himself from the booth and wound his way through the crowd and tables towards the bar. After a minute or two of waiting for the bartender’s attention, he ordered a Jack and Coke and was ready to make his way back towards the booth. He noticed that Marianne was getting out of the booth to head to the bar herself, and in the next moment he heard a voice to the left to him and before he could turn his attention that way, someone bumped into him.

If only he’d seen it coming.

But he didn’t, and if he’d been in the right mind he might have pondered over that a little bit more. The contact was brief, however, so he felt nothing more than the physical jolt of her running into his arm. Owen just swore under his breath and steadied his right hand, focusing on keeping it in the glass so that it didn’t end up all over his pants. Eyebrows shot up as he turned to the brunette who ran into him, blue eyes finding hers when she looked up from the ground finally. Here he’d been worried about someone following him and silently planning on killing him, but instead he was running into a pretty girl who was not the ‘hot college mess’ that she was claiming. “No,” he said initially, once he’d realized he probably looked ridiculous just standing there, not saying anything in response, “no, my drink is just fine actually.” Owen raised it, as if to indicate such, and took a sip.

His eyes flicked towards the bar, where Marianne now stood, and he could see her smirking right at him. She lifted a brow towards the girl who’d bumped into him, before she turned her attention back to the bar. He was already warm from the alcohol in his system, and there was no helping the warmth that crept to his cheeks with that glance. Owen hoped that the brunette didn’t notice as much when his eyes drifted back to her.

“I can’t help but notice that you don’t have a drink yourself. I mean, I don’t think I was paying too great attention myself, I think I’m partially at fault here. The least I could do is buy you one.” A smile lifted the corners of his lips, his free hand tucking into the pocket of his black slacks. “Unless people don’t do that anymore, getting drinks with strangers they bump into at the bar. Or if you need to get back to your friends…” He could have sworn she had been saying something to someone else before bumping into him, unless she was actually saying, ‘hey maybe you should pay attention to where you’re walking’ before their collision.

Re: it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

Posted: Mon Mar 13, 2017 12:18 am

by Simply

For the first time, Eliza took in his face up close and in person rather than scrutinizing a photograph. He was terribly attractive, she had to give him that. Likely, he had wooed quite a number of young ladies so far during the course of his life. Pity, he would not be able to do any more heart breaking. She’d have to find a way to end his life quietly, without arousing suspicion. Accidents and suicides were the easiest manner in which to dispose of psychic filth. A pretty shell encasing a treasonous interior. Not his fault, though, she has mused often enough. All of the individuals that she had been tasked with disposing of were not brought up as part of The Circle. One didn’t even understand her power. Made the work that much easier, even though they could never See her coming.

Unfortunately, the information that The Circle had on Owen was limited and the extent of his abilities unknown.

“Oh, good. I’d hate to have wasted it.” Eliza grinned, slipping her phone into her back pocket. “No, I just got in so I haven’t worked my way to the bar yet but I’d be an idiot to turn down a free drink.” She sidled up beside him and backtracked towards the bar at first, before turning just slightly. Hard t get was always a good option with men. Not too hard to get, though. She needed to be able to get him alone at some point. The executioner’s goal was to be back east in three days. “Vodka soda.” She said to the bartender, having worked her way between two groups of chatting individuals.

He handed it to her and she held it gently with one hand. “I came with a couple of people but I’m more of a fifth wheel to them.” Vague, relatively nondescript and something that he might relate to seeing as there appeared to be a few couples paired up from the group he had been spending his time with. “Thank you for the drink,” she lifted it towards him as she squeezed the juice from the lemon into the liquid and ice-filled glass. “You are not what I expected to run into. I nearly topple your drink and you buy me on…” She smirked a little bit, bright eyes meeting his gaze.

“Unless you planned to bump into me and this is all an elaborate pick up attempt.” The sparkled in her eye gleamed a little brighter. Eliza took a long sip of her drink. Absentmindedly, she wondered if he used is abilities to pick up girls. Her head cocked slightly as the thought tumbled around inside of her mind. “Which, I have to admit would be fairly complicated but still commendable.”

Re: it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

Posted: Mon Mar 13, 2017 1:29 am

by Dollface

It occurred to Owen after asking about a drink he probably should have asked about her phone, remembering that it clattered to the floor when they ran into each other. That would have been the polite thing to do, even if it seemed everything was okay by the way she tucked it into her pocket without another glance, and he tried to shake off the feeling that maybe he skipped over some sort of… bumping-into-another-person etiquette. And somewhat to his surprise, she was taking him up on her offer, and he followed her towards the bar.

Owen paid for her drink, as promised, and once she had it in hand he led them off to a table so they didn’t take up space at the bar. “Who were you expecting to run into exactly then? I could take your drink for myself and just yell at you for running into me instead if that’s what you’d prefer.” Owen was smirking then, taking a sip of his drink as he glanced over her.

Truthfully, he was trying to read her a little bit. There was the obvious: she was beautiful, she was amusing with the way she teased about their mishap, and he was intrigued. Still, it was more difficult for him to get anything more based off of just being around someone; usually it was more beneficial if he was in direct contact with the person or something of theirs. And he definitely didn’t want to come on too strong – not just with this girl, but with anyone – so he kept his glass in hand, despite its place on the table, and toyed with the edge of his napkin as well.

A genuine laugh escaped him then at her mention of him running into her deliberately, and if he’d been more sober he might have been more wary of a comment like that. “Don’t forget who bumped into who now. If anyone planned anything, it definitely would have been you. And since it was you – who did the bumping into, I mean – that means the rouse would be even more elaborate if I made it all happen just so I could buy you a drink. I have to say, that would be the most interesting way that I’ve ever been approached by a woman before, so kudos to you.” If only he’d been fortunate enough to see this happening.

“I’m Owen, by the way,” he met her gaze, his smile reaching his eyes as he introduced himself, “professional fifth-wheel. Consider the drink a thank you for a little… reprieve, I guess.” Thankfully, the night had been good, bordering on great even, and at that moment he felt completely normal. All of the paranoia from earlier had drifted away, the nightmare far from his mind.

Re: it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

Posted: Mon Mar 13, 2017 4:25 pm

by Simply

“You never know these days. Some people can be so touchy over mere accidents. “ Eliza brushed back her hair with her free hand. “But I think I prefer you how you are.” Or dead. Dead would be a vast improvement. To keep herself from smiling inappropriately at her own mental jest, she brought her drink to her lips and look a slow sip, feeling the ice press against her skin before clattering back down into the glass. She had never felt the pressure of a psychic’s reading. Apparently, however, the other executioners before her had reported that it was quite uncomfortable. They would push into thoughts and Circle members could sense it. Apparently mortals would just have slight itching around the ears and nose…hence the old saying, “your ears must be burning.”

His laugh was infectious and she felt her smile growing. Yet, she would not be enticed by such things. A job was a job no matter how pleasant the target seemed at first. He was a psychic and he had to die or else the balance would be tipped and the world plunged into the chaos of 1812. Drawing a breath, she steadied her resolve, as she was apt to do before completing a task. “Ah, you caught me.” A smirk dance on her lips as she settled herself at the tall table onto one of the leather-covered stools. “My plan was actually to break my phone and pressure you into buying me a new one, but it didn’t so a drink will have to do.” A laugh as she worked her phone out of her pocket and set it on the table between their glasses.

“Eliza, but everyone calls me Eli.” She raised her drink to him and then took another sip, nearly halfway done in a short span of time. “It is nice to make the acquaintance of another fifth-wheel. Someone has to do our jobs and I take it quite seriously. Perhaps we can trade the tips and tricks of the trade. ” She laughed again, pleasantly. Light brown eyes trailed along the room, looking over to where her “friends” had been standing. There were quite a few couples over in that direction so it made it easy to fit along in with the lie she had manufactured.

“Do they constantly try and set you up with their friends? This one time, my best girl friend, bless her heart, decided that she wanted us to date brothers. Brothers.” Eliza snorted out the word a second time. “That ended miserably and ever since I have been so wary of their suggestions but how can you tell them that you don’t need to be with someone. I’m just not one of those…coupley couples, y’know? Never quite works itself out the way they want it to.” Now the ice was above the liquid line. This would be the only drink she could have here so she would be slow with finishing the rest. A clouded mind would slow things down.

Re: it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

Posted: Mon Mar 13, 2017 7:54 pm

by Dollface

“I can’t lie; I much prefer your company and buying you a drink, rather than shelling out the cash for a new phone. Sorry your plan was thwarted.” His words were thick with a teasing lilt and Owen felt unable to wipe the smile off of his face. The conversation with this girl – Eliza – was so easy. It definitely helped that this was a situation that he sort of put himself in, rather than being put in the spot… and he’d had three drinks already. He made a mental note to himself that he should have only one more after the one in his hand. It had been a long time since he’d been hung over, and even if he had another day to recover before he went back to work, he didn’t want to waste his Sunday miserable.

Tucking that note to the back of his mind, he focused on her again as he took another sip of his drink. “Oh, no, I understand completely,” he agreed, swirling the ice and last remaining liquid in his glass. Owen shook his head, sighing, before he continued. “Brothers is bad, but my friend, Lucas, set me up with his girlfriend’s twin at one point when we were in college.” With that, he drained his drink, and cast a glance towards the booth he’d been in before running into Eliza. “My aunt. Goodness. I love her, but she’s the worst with the set ups, and the funny thing is, she’s never been married or with anyone as long as I can remember. I’d rather be third or fifth wheel than settle though, you know?”

That was what he told himself from time to time at least. It’s not like he was in any rush for any particular reason. Not to mention he worried over the idea of telling someone he was with for a considerable amount of the time about the whole ‘psychic abilities’ thing. There had only been one girl a few years ago who he thought he might see a future with, and after he told her things began to deteriorate. She hadn’t been able to trust him, thinking that perhaps he swayed things – or her in general – and just thought the whole thing was ‘weird’ and insisted he needed mental help when she left.

“I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t mind getting another drink,” he suggested, nodding towards their empty glasses with a tilt of his brow. This was far beyond what he usually did, but Owen was truly, genuinely enjoying himself, and that’s all he’d set out to do that night. “I have it on good authority that the best way to avoid fifth-wheeling is having another drink with the stranger you bumped into.” He winked at her then, obviously feeling a little confident, and before he could get an actual answer, Owen was making his way towards the bar again.

He ordered another Jack and Coke for himself, a vodka and soda for Eliza, and as he waited he felt a touch on his shoulder. Owen turned to see Marianne, who was giggling as she pointed a finger in his face. “You little Casanova, buying that pretty girl another drink! I told Thomas no, he couldn’t set you up with anyone tonight, and boy I’m glad he didn’t! I wanted to spare you, and I didn’t want my birthday dinner to be awkward honestly, but this makes it even better!”

Owen’s brows raised, and turned to look towards Eliza before trailing his light eyes back to his friend. “Thank you for sparing me, Mari,” he replied, and thankfully in that moment his drinks were ready. “I’m going to…”

“You have to bring her to the table, Owen! It’s my birthday, we’ll do shots! Pleaaaase.” She was half insisting and half whining, and the young man shook his head, saying he’d give her the option but didn’t make any promises.

He was conflicted about it himself, as he went back to the table, glad to see that Eliza was still actually there. “Sorry about the wait. My friend found me at the bar, she’s a little toasted because it’s her birthday,” he explained as he set Eliza’s drink in front of her before making his way back to his own seat, “and now she’s insisting that we join them over at their booth.” Owen took a moment to take a drink, let his eyes wander the room, and then focused his attention on the woman across from him. “I told her I made no promises, though. Besides, at some point I’m sure you’ll want to get back to your friends.”

Re: it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

Posted: Mon Mar 13, 2017 11:17 pm

by Simply

“Well your flattery is working, easing the blow of a failed plan.” She drained her glass as she said so, smiling after she swallowed. Her eyes shifted from the light brown to a bright green, flickering back and forth across his face as he agreed with her assessment of being the tag-along on couples adventures. “Twins, oh lord, you cannot be serious. The sounds absolutely terrible.” She pulled a face, pushing the now drained cup away from her, listening to the ice clink together against its confines. “Agreed. There’s no point in choosing someone to be with just for the sake of not being alone. And people think that being alone is so terrible when in reality, it can be so much more pleasant.” A shrug lifted her shoulders before she made to protest to another beverage but he had already worked his way towards the bar.

At this point, Eliza should just slip away from the table and disappear into the crowd before departing. It would do better with her mission, to not become so involved but she could not readily say what kept her anchored to the leather chair she occupied. Idly, she spun her dark hair between her fingers. At times, her body would dispel the alcohol from her body if it was essential to her survival. One night a friend of a friend of a friend got handsy after a night out, she was extremely drunk but then suddenly, she was sober. Eli supposed that if her body decided so, she would sober up today in order to be clear-headed tomorrow.

“No worries.” She responded, turning around and taking the drink that her offered to her. She a sip, almost as though her hands were acting against her own will. Her gaze following his, towards the group of individuals he had gone to dinner with, as they were readily becoming more rambunctious as the liquor ran through their systems. His suggestion, brought about by the birthday girl, gave her pause, pondering if it was worthwhile. The words left her before she could stop them. “I think my friends are better off without me, so I wouldn’t mind meeting yours.” A broad smile was given to him and she picked up her drink, following him to his friends.

The girls were giggling and the guys were sitting and standing about. One girl, the one that she had seen celebrating her birthday, squealed as the pair approached. “Owen!” She reached out and drew Eliza into a hug, which caused the girl to looked sideways at Owen before awkwardly returning the embrace. “We’re glad he brought you over with us. We’ve just gotten shots! Shots shots shots! Here, we got extra just in case he brought you over!” She held out two shot glasses to bother Owen and Eliza. Eliza took it, both hands busy now. Sheepishly, she looked over at Owen and shrugged, as Marianne’s attention turned elsewhere.

“Cheers?” She held her shot glass out and when he touched his to hers, she drew it back. The tequila disappeared in one swallow and she grimaced, taking a quick sip of her vodka soda to wash it down. “I haven’t taken a shot in nearly a year. “ And it seemed she’d be making up for lost time as Marianne overheard her.

“Here, take another!” She sloppily handed them another each and set down their empty ones on a nearby table.

Eliza raised her eyebrows to him. “Your friends enjoy a good party,” she laughed, looking at their second tequila shot. “I don’t think I can keep up with them.”

Re: it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

Posted: Tue Mar 14, 2017 1:51 am

by Dollface

There was no masking the surprise on his face when Eliza agreed to the idea of meeting his friends, mostly because he assumed after their second drink she’d probably excuse herself. It’s not like she owed him her time or anything, she could have even completely blown him off while he was away. So the surprise was pleasant, and it ebbed into a slow smile on his face when he stood to follow her back towards the booth he’d been in previously. Thomas was standing off to the side while Marianne had one side to herself, while Lucas and his current girlfriend, Lucy (Owen teased him about that one a little bit), sat opposite to her.

It seemed that Marianne’s celebration was in full swing, and she was partaking as much as she could, by the empty glasses scattered about the table amongst the full shot glasses. “I’m so sorry,” he tried to speak quietly, leaning down closer so that only Eliza could hear, “normally she doesn’t accost any new people we bring around. At least she’s a happy drunk.” That smirk returned to his lips as he straightened, downing the shot of tequila in one swift move. He grimaced, not even trying to hide it, and took a generous sip from his regular drink which really didn’t help him any.

Setting the glass down for the time being, he started to undo the buttons on the sleeves of his shirt, rolling them up to his elbows. “They sure do, but you seem to be holding your own,” he said with a sigh, his smile lopsided when he returned his blue eyes to Eliza. “Now you can live up to the hot college mess you said you were earlier.” With that, he took his second shot, and he knew it wasn’t going to be long before he felt the effect of just about everything he’d had to drink so far.

Lucas and his girlfriend had excused themselves after downing a couple shots of their own, and Owen slid into the booth first, gesturing for Eliza to follow suit. “I think you’ve made Marianne’s night by taking your first two shots in over a year. Thank you for entertaining her whims at what could possibly be your own expense,” he teased, his words light. Owen sat closer to the wall, angling himself so that he tried to face her a little better. His friends were off in their own world across from them now, back to their mixed drinks while Thomas insisted that maybe Marianne slow it down just a little bit. Normally, he’d be able to get a good feeling as to whether or not the night was going to take a turn for the worst. Tonight, however, his inhibitions were completely tossed to the side.

Not only did he hardly ever drink this much anymore, but he certainly didn’t go about being so vulnerable around someone he didn’t know well.

But the alcohol made him feel warm, he felt good, and Eliza was beautiful and sitting beside him and he wasn’t particularly focused on much else. “I hope it’s not too forward, but running into you has vastly improved my night as well,” he spoke low, thankful again that there wasn’t a need for shouting over the crowd or the music that seemed to be a hum in the background now. “And now neither of us is fifth-wheeling right now, how about that?” A smile lifted his lips just before he took another sip from his glass. “So, Eliza, tell me something about yourself. Like, for instance… what’s a normal Saturday night for you? Or do you make friends with strangers at bars frequently?”

Re: it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

Posted: Tue Mar 14, 2017 12:44 pm

by Simply

Owen’s breath against her ear sent a little shiver down the back of her neck, gooseflesh erupting along the path. Eliza laughed, turning her head back towards him. “Don’t worry about it. She seems sweet.” She watched him roll up his sleeves, as though he was warming from the liquor. The back of her neck suddenly felt even warmer beneath her hair and she shrugged herself out of her light jacket. Tossing it onto the booth, she let it crumple into a pile, immediately forgotten. With two shots and two drinks inside of her now, she certainly would turn into that college mess she had joked about beforehand. “I hope never to meet that Eli again, she was quite the disaster.” Which was both true and false at the same time. She had enjoyed time in college but graduating in three years rather than four had occupied the majority of her time. After outside of classes, The Circle was training he to be their greatest weapon.

The brunette lowered herself into the booth beside him, scooting closer so that half of her left leg wouldn’t hang off the edge. Their legs touched at first and she moved hers together so they wouldn’t any longer. Eliza hadn’t drunk heavily in a long time and it was beginning to set in. Soft lips tingled and she licked them before bringing her vodka to her lips. Stop drinking. The back of her mind told her. Just get up and go back to the hotel. Ignoring that little voice, Eliza smiled. “No trouble at all. What is a terrible hangover between new acquaintances?” She was nearly done with her third drink of the night, having consumed the first her bought her and a glass of white wine at the bar where they had had dinner. This was not going to end well for either of them.

“It feels weird, not being the fifth wheel, but does it count if you’re fifth-wheeling with another fifth-wheel?” A smirk played her lips and then she laughed at the absurdity of her question. “I sound like a complete idiot. Forgive me.” Shaking her head, her wavy locks brushed across her now bare shoulders. The thick-strapped, burgundy tank top contrast beautifully against her lighter skin. Bright green eyes met his as he inquired about her. A little truth wouldn’t hurt.

“A normal Saturday?” Well, that included training extensively with her other Circle members. They would participate in both hand-to-hand and magical combat. Eliza was undefeated since she was eighteen. Afterwards, she would shower and curl up in bed with a new book. She enjoyed reading fantasy novels and what people imagined gift individuals to be like. It made for an enjoyable break. “Reading, mostly. I get done with work at five on Saturdays and I’m usually pretty wiped.” Not false, but not entirely true. “Befriending stangers at bars is not something I’ve done since college.” She laughed again, taking a sip of her drink.

“How about you?” Tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear, she held up a hand before he could answer. “No no, that’s too simple. Tell me something about you that no one else knows.” Eliza grinned broadly. “It’s not like I have anyone that I could tell anyways, having just met you.”

Re: it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

Posted: Tue Mar 14, 2017 7:32 pm

by Dollface

Mention of the possibility of tomorrow’s hang over made Owen assess the drink that was still in his hand. It was going to be his last, especially after two shots of tequila, and how quickly he’d had everything. There was a time where it wouldn’t have even been a second thought, and the drinking would have just tapered off as the night went on. Now, as he was older, he made a conscious effort, and not just for the sake how he’d feel tomorrow. Truthfully, he didn’t want to get plastered and make a fool of himself in public, in front of Eliza.

A slow smile appeared on his face and Owen shook his head at her fifth wheel comment. “You don’t sound like an idiot, I promise,” he assured her. “I got what you meant, and I do think it counts. Or cancels each other out. Something like that.” Another laugh escaped him because now Owen felt like he wasn’t making any sense. He took another slow sip of his drink, as if that was going to help him be any more clear minded.

Blue eyes remained focused on Eliza when she answered him, his head tipped to the side just slightly as he listened. Even in his haze, he noticed the pause before she went to explain a typical Saturday night. He picked up on cues and tells rather easily, but he really didn’t think a whole lot of it, especially now. It did make him curious, but he picked up nothing strange about her demeanor or her answer. “I never made a habit of myself, but it seems to be working out in our favor.”

When she posed her next question, his dark brows lifted in curiosity. Asking about something no one else knew, he felt his stomach coil and he laughed again. “You just go right for the loaded questions, huh?” His words were laced with amusement he regarded her, and he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, contemplating just what he would actually tell her. So… I have psychic abilities like being able to move things without touching them, reading your thoughts and sometimes seeing things that are going to happen in the future.

It didn’t exactly work like that. Owen took a moment to finish his drink, and when he set it down on the table, he scooted just a little bit closer to Eliza. “As long as you promise not to tell anyone,” he raised his brows again, wet his lips, “so. I tell people I’m allergic to avocado, but the truth is I just don’t like it, and it’s easier to say I’m allergic than have everyone on my back about hating guacamole.” He couldn’t help but grin as he told her this, fighting off laughter as well, before he was shaking his head again at himself. “I’m sorry, I know, that’s a lot to take in from someone you’ve just met, but it’s good to get those things out in the open, right?”

Owen knew how talkative he was being now, when normally he had the tendency to be a little more quiet and reserved. A smile still lingered on his lips, and he took his lower lip between his teeth for a moment before he spoke again, “I could give you a more serious answer, but maybe it’s more suitable for somewhere more…” He almost said ‘private’ but something about that word just felt weird, and he certainly didn’t want to seem like he was suggesting anything questionable. They’d only just met, after all, and if he was being honest (which he supposed he could have admitted to her), he’d never taken a girl home the same night they’d met. “Maybe another time. But for now, it’s your turn,” he met her eyes, amusement touching his smile and his gaze again. “What’s your deep dark secret? I can promise my discretion, but Marianne has selective hearing and might choose to listen in on our conversation the moment you make your confession.”

Re: it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

Posted: Fri Mar 17, 2017 6:46 pm

by Simply

The alcohol made her stomach flutter and her normally stalwart defenses began to crumble. Steadily working her way towards intoxication, Eliza finished the last bit of the drink she still had and then pushed it onto the table in front of them. No more. She scolded herself. They would talk, she would ease her way into his life and make him comfortable around her so that she could strike without fear of retaliation. The Circle’s assassin was attempting to convince herself that this was all a means to an end so that the guilt wouldn’t start to sink in.

“There’s really no point in small talk amongst fifth wheels, our bond already transcends such pleasantries.” A smirk and she tucked her hair behind her ears before letting her hand fall to lightly touch his knee. She then laid her hand back in her lap, leaning with her other hand onto the table. Her head plopping onto her fit, head cocked at him. “Besides, what is the point of tequila shots if you don’t just get straight to the good stuff?” Oh lordy, this was going to end very poorly for her tomorrow if she didn’t make her escape right now.

A devilish grin played her lips and she leaned closer. “I won’t tell a living soul.” His confession resulted in a shocked gasp. “You don’t like avocado. Well, I can see I’ve wasted my time getting to know you. I certainly can’t be affiliated with someone that turns their nose up at guacamole.” Drunk eyes danced playfully as she shook her head, throwing her hands up in a fed up manner. “I wish I could say that it has been a pleasure but…that confession quite soured the evening. “ Eliza couldn’t hold the laughter in another minute. Then his words trailed off and she raised both of her eyebrows, watching the way his lip was held by his teeth. How distracting. “More…?” Yet his attention shifted to posing a question towards her. Her darkest secret. Well, I’m a part of a secret, magical organization that has firm guidelines concerning the proper disposal of anyone showing any penchant for seer abilities. You are one of these individuals and I’m the best assassin they have so…do you mind if we just go ahead and get this over with? She grimaced internally at the idea of saying those words out loud.

“If I told you, I really would have to kill you and we’ve been having such a nice time. Though, one less avocado hater in the world wouldn’t be so bad…” She winked at him just as Marianne came to rescue her, unknowingly of course.

“More shots! The bartender gave us all another round on the house. Here!” She pushed the shots she had in her hands towards them before turning back to her fiancé and promptly spilling a bit of her own glass onto his shoes.

“She’s going to be the death of me, I think.” But she took one of the three that remained on the table and held it up to cheers with him. “But those two are yours. I can’t possible do another one.” She downed it, before the music flickered on and off. The buzz between her ears escalated. Well, Eliza was thoroughly drunk now and a blackout hovered on the horizon. “Why is the music doing that…oh,” She laughed at herself. It had certainly been a while since her last night on the town. “They’re closing soon aren’t they?” Green eyes snuck a peek at her phone to confirm her suspicions.

Re: it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

Posted: Fri Mar 17, 2017 11:38 pm

by Dollface

Their conversation was so easy. He was entirely amused by Eliza, drawn in, and he couldn't help but to mirror her laughter and her smirk. But as soon as she set her hand on his knee, he faltered. He knew well enough to control himself - even inebriated - and not to let the quick shift in his emotions show in his face. Owen was taught not to physically react. But a strange feeling coursed through him when she touched him, and more than anything he felt uncertain. The contact was brief - soon enough her hand left him and just a ghost of her touch lingered. Immediately, any uncertainty and unease lifted like a fog and he was drawn back to the present, only feeling the warmth and elation that came with a little too much alcohol in one's system.

Owen was awaiting the answer to his question when she was cut off quickly by Marianne's arrival with more tequila in hand. Another hearty laugh escaped him, followed by an exaggerated sigh. "Well, it was nice knowing you, because I'm not sure I'll make it until morning myself." Regardless, he threw any remaining caution to the wind. He gave Eliza another crooked smile as he picked up his shot glass, clicked it to hers, and downed the tequila. It went down smoother than the last two, but he certainly didn't need to tempt fate by having anymore. "I'll let the birthday girl take care of those; I'm not trying to make an ass of myself tonight."

The night seemed to be nearing its end, however. Owen really hadn't been paying attention to the time that had passed since... well, since he'd run into Eliza. Then she mentioned the music and its cue, and he smiled and nodded to her words. "I didn't realize how late it had gotten already. Honestly, I haven't stayed out this late in ages."

He felt hesitant knowing that the night was drawing to a close. "You never did answer my question, though," he mentioned. Owen's hand found his face, scratching at the stubble as though pondering something, as if he was deep in thought. "But I don't think I want an answer for that one anymore - not yet. I might come back to that question another time, though." The smile he wore held mischief that reached his blue eyes.

"I should preface with, I don't usually do this," the young man began, biting down on the corner of his lower lip again briefly, "but would you like to, I don't know, ,8'r back to my place?" In that moment he was really hoping he wasn't misjudging her energy - their energy. But then, he thought, the worst that could happen was she could decline and he'd likely never see her again. The night would simply belong in this moment, and considering how drunk they both were, maybe it wouldn't even be remembered.

Still. He figured it didn't hurt to take a chance. "Unless you have to get back to your friends, which is totally understandable. I just thought..." The young man's words trailed and he gave a shake of his head. "I could make us some coffee. And then get to that deep, dark secret of yours."

Re: it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

Posted: Sat Mar 18, 2017 7:01 pm

by Simply

“It is probably better this way, that you never know the secrets I really hold.” She laughed. Eliza had failed to notice the shift in magic that conspired between them when she had briefly touched his knee. It had been a complete mistake, but one she was not sober enough to regret just yet. Her eyes glinted darkly, shifting towards a gentle brown. Her attention shifted back to the people finishing off the last of their drinks, until he beckoned her back with the trailing sound of his voice. Both of her eyebrows rose above her eyes, at his question. Then she permitted him to ramble on, the smirk on the right side of her mouth growing more pronounced with each passing word of his. Finally, she slipped out of the booth and titled her head towards the door, ignoring the whispering of mistake mistake mistake by her mind.

“I don’t think they’ll miss me tonight. But I’ll only come with you on one condition,” she smiled, grabbing her jacket, and headed back towards the door, fairly confident that he would follow (whether naturally or because of the intensely staggering amount of alcohol coursing through her system). She strolled towards the front, managing it easily with the thinning of the crowds as other drunkards made their way home for the night.

Eliza leaned against the wall outside, drawing her phone out of her pocket. She knew where he lived, but that despite her intoxication, she knew better than to reveal that information. “My secret stays my secret but I will take that coffee.” She smiled broadly and held out her phone to him. The Uber app was up with their current location as pick-up and the cursor blinking at destination. When he entered it in, she placed her phone back in her pocket. She climbed into the car when it arrived and grabbed him by the shirt to pull him after her, making no contacts with his skin.

Their arrival at his place was coupled with laughter and a rushed apology to the driver, nearly forgetting her jacket and rushing back to grab it through the window. “Sorry, sorry.” Eliza giggled…giggled. Who was this person?? “Now show me around this place…” her hand waved about the front door, listening to him get his keys, “and make that one hell of a strong cup of coffee because I don’t think that I am going to be able to move tomorrow or live tomorrow…” She tripped up the stairs and laughed, catching herself.

The door opened and she stumbled against him, but skin did not touch skin prohibiting the strongest reading he’d be able to get on her. Fabric to hand would do something, give him an inkling but not strong enough to read her thoroughly. Eliza’s eyes sifted to blue in the darkness of the room. “Do you have any food too? Food would be excellent. I love food. Particularly French fries but this isn’t McDonald’s…do you have French fries?”

Re: it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

Posted: Sat Mar 18, 2017 9:13 pm

by Dollface

Owen wouldn’t have been able to explain just how he felt when Eliza agreed to go back to his apartment with him. He was surprised and nervous now almost, as he tried to remember what sort of state he’d left it in. Was his laundry left out? Were there dirty dishes in the sink that he’d said ‘fuck it’ to before he left, thinking he’d be home at a reasonable hour to do them before bed? With all of his jumbled thoughts crossing paths in his mind, it took him a second to tap in his address to get their Uber.

While they’d waited, Marianne and Thomas both shot him a sort of knowing glance, smirks on their faces and giggle escaping Marianne. Before he knew it, he was tumbling into the car behind Eliza and on the way home. He was bringing a girl home. Like he’d told her already, it was something he’d never done before, and certainly had never had any plans to do so… ever, honestly, as it was never how he went about things. But all of his inhibitions were thrown to the wind apparently, and it wasn’t long before they were at his building.

His laughter followed hers as she giggled behind him, the two of them stumbling up the stairs to the second floor where his apartment was. “You need to prepare yourself. I’m going to make the best cup of coffee you’ve ever had.” Owen grinned as they somehow made it into his apartment after he fumbled with his keys for a moment, and he found himself pressed against the door with Eliza’s own body just barely pressed to him. Now that he had more alcohol in his system, any sort of reading he’d get from their contact was practically null. Now, it just felt as if something was buzzing between them, an electric current that lit up under his skin.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I have any French fries. I hope that isn’t a deal break,” he told her quietly, his left hand lifting to find the light switch, before he dropped both of his hands deftly to her sides. Owen’s blue eyes wandered away from the brunette, wandering towards the kitchen, before his gaze found hers again. “I do have a frozen pizza I think, if you think you have the patience to wait for it.” A dark eyebrow lifted, and the young man’s hands had drifted down to her hips and his eyes flicked down to her lips just briefly, but instead of pulling her closer like he might have done, he moved her back a step so that he could move into the kitchen.

He tipped his chin over his shoulder to look at her and then he turned fully to see her, grinning all the while. “Please, make yourself at home, get comfortable. It’ll be a little bit for the coffee to brew and the oven to heat up.” He took his own time to kick off his shoes, although even drunk he felt a little bit silly walking around in socked feet and his nicer clothing while making coffee and pizza.

He turned the oven on, and started brewing a fresh pot of coffee. Owen rifled through the cabinets for two coffee mugs, retrieving creamer from the fridge and sweetener from another cabinet. In spite of being drunk, he moved about his kitchen pretty easily, even if he had to check and recheck his cabinets for the baking sheet a few times. Now that he just had to wait, he paused, leaning against the counter and folding his arms over his chest. “If you’re going to eat my pizza and drink my coffee, you’ll have to tell me something about yourself first. Trade a fact for your coffee, house rules.”

Re: it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

Posted: Sun Mar 26, 2017 7:21 pm

by Simply

Sobriety would have immensely improved the understanding of the electricity that passed between them. It hummed beneath her skin, attempting to awaken the muddled part of her mind. It failed miserably, suppressed firmly by the alcohol coursing through her veins. A exasperated sigh escaped her as she flopped herself onto one of the bar stools, “French fries are the best drunk food. Especially with cheese. And chili. And ketchup mixed with mayo for dipping.” The second sigh to leave her lips was one of longing, directly particularly at the idea of the greasy culinary concoction she was imagining in her head.

“But pizza will do, I suppose.” She grinned, resting her head on her hands. Brown eyes flickered over to the shoes he had just discarded and made her want to be free of hers as well. She reached down and unzipped her boots, attempting to kick it off before sending it flying into the now closed door. Eliza cringed and looked at him from the side. “Soooorrrrryyy.” Yet, she proceeded to do something nearly identical with the second, which made her laugh.

“A fact for the coffee. Well….this may be a deal breaker for you but, “ Eliza leaned in conspiratorially, looking at the dark liquid now brewing in the pot. “Are you ready? I mean this is avocado level stuff right here, so prepare yourself.” Inhaling, her hands spread flat on the counter between them. “I don’t even drink coffee.” The witch smiled, tucking her socked feet up beneath her to make her appear taller on the barstool that she occupied.

“It tastes absolutely terrible and it makes my hands shake. I can’t have shaky hands for my job so coffee is a no-go. But it takes like ass anyways so I don’t feel as though I am missing out on anything. But tea now that is a beverage I can get on board with, but I suppose I’ll settle for water with my pizza. Hydrating would be a good idea at this point because the more I sit here the more I feel those shots that your friend gave us. What was her name again…Margaret. MARY! Mary…” Eliza tasted the names on her tongue and knew that they felt wrong, but couldn’t manage to remember why they were incorrect.

Shrugging, the oven dinged and she jumped off. She stumbled slightly, catching herself on the refrigerator handle, managing to upright herself. The freezer air hit her face with surprising refreshness. She rummaged around, manage to find two frozen pizzas – four cheese and meat lovers. “Four cheese it is. To make up for the discouraging lack of French fries in this apartment.” The package was quickly opened and she popped it into the oven. Whirling around, she leaned against the oven door, feeling the venting heat against her back.

“Your turn!” Cocking her head to the side, dark hair tumbled against her shoulder.

Re: it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

Posted: Sun Apr 02, 2017 5:45 pm

by Dollface

Considering he was just as inebriated as Eliza, he couldn’t help but laugh at not one of her shoes, but both, colliding with his front door as he got the coffee ready. He was certain there had probably never been this much noise emanating from his apartment, at this hour at least. Hopefully there wouldn’t be a knock on his door from an irritated neighbor, or the super the next morning to tell him that he needed to keep it down when it was two-thirty in the morning.

Granted, he wasn’t thinking about it much at that exact moment, he was busy. The coffee began brewing and he settled his attention on her, from across the other side of the breakfast bar. His hands laid along the edge, leaning forward just a bit as she’d lowered her voice before her big reveal. “Excuse me?” He replied with a grin and a tilt of his brow, his tone feigning offense as she went on with her explanation. “I’m sorry, I just can’t listen to this blasphemy. I should just send you home right now, honestly.”

His blue eyes narrowed on her, but he couldn’t hold the expression for long before the smile returned. Hydrating probably was a good idea, and into the fridge he went to get the water pitcher. “Marianne, who likes to think we’re still in college sometimes and we can take a night out like this without having to take the entire next day to recover.” He might have been drunk, but he knew what was waiting for him tomorrow.

While Eliza nearly flew off the barstool to get the pizza from the freezer, he filled up a glass of water for her, another one for himself. “After your blasphemous statement about coffee just now, you should be glad I’m letting you eat any of my food, Eliza,” he mentioned, leaning his back against the counter beside the oven while he sipped at his water.

As if the movement were instinctive, he lifted his hand to brush that curl of her hair back behind her ear, away from her shoulder, while he considered what he could tell her about himself. The brief contact left his fingertips buzzing, and he felt distracted, and quickly drew his hand back to rest at the edge of the counter again. This was such new territory for him, and there was something, something there but something else still holding him just the smallest bit back.

Owen needed to quell his nerves. With as much liquid courage in his system, he didn’t feel that much more confident than usual. “Let’s see…” he began, his teeth catching his lower lip, “well, I moved here with my aunt when I was 10, from the Midwest. I think I prefer the west coast, I’m not sure I’d want to leave.” He gave a shrug of his shoulders. Finally, the coffee finished brewing, and he reached for the mug he’d retrieved to fill that and doctor the beverage to his liking. “What about you, are you from around here?”

Re: it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

Posted: Sat Apr 08, 2017 9:51 pm

by Simply

“We’ll just have to agree to harbor these deep dark secrets and never speak of them again. Avocados and coffee. The darkest of secrets.” She laughed, brushing her hair back as she tasted Marianne’s name again, trying to commit it into her fuddled memory. She licked her lips, just as he brushed his fingers across her cheek. It was the lightest of touches, drawing her hair with it. Her skin electrified, sparking the recesses of her mind –clearing it through the fog of drunkenness. Then it ended and the sluggish nature of her mind returned.

She grasped her water in her hand, taking a slow sip as she listened to him talk about his life and how he ended up here. Funnily enough, she knew that little fact already. She knew where he had been born and that he ended up here. An aunt was is guardian when he was younger. There was little mention of his parents that The Circle could gather but it didn’t much matter. Records showed that they were dead and he was the only child of their union. There would be no further problems or need to remove any siblings from the equation.

The smell of pizza began to fill the small kitchen. “Around here? No. I didn’t start here, at least.” She smiled and knew (albeit not soberly) that this conversation needed to shift from herself and her history. Having been raised in The Circle, Eliza was well aware that she couldn’t very well divulge the truth. Dark eyes flickered back to him. “I think I would like to live along the coast, perhaps in Georgia or even Alaska. I know that they are vastly different places.” She laughed crouching down to peer at the pizza through the window in the oven.

“Alaska is beautiful, I’ve heard. I’ve always wanted to see it and I don’t so much mind the cold.” She rose back up, rocking on the balls of her feet as she took another swig of water. The aroma of melted cheese filled her nostrils and she inhaled deeply, hoisting herself up to the counter next to him. She kicked him lightly with her foot, swinging them back and forth. The tap tap tap against the cabinets was the soft thud of her heel against the wood. “Do you like to read?” She asked, knocking her foot against the side of his knee. “I do.” That was true. The pizza timer began to beep and she kicked him harder. “You’re up! Pizza time!”

Re: it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

Posted: Sat May 06, 2017 11:55 pm

by Dollface

One would think the coffee, the water, time itself and not having alcohol now for a good half hour at the very least would have started to sober him up. But he still felt especially drunk, and he wondered if it was her very presence, their lilting conversation. There was a relatively easy back and forth, despite the conversation dipping towards the ‘getting to know each other’ territory. Asking about secrets, backgrounds, simple things like what you like to do in your free time. It had no quality of being forced, which usually happened on the typical first or blind date.

Her answer was vague, he noted, and then realized that maybe his own had been just as vague and there was no need to read into it. There was no promise they’d see each other after tonight, even if he’d like to, so then what was the point in divulging every detail? Although… truthfully, he didn’t know where exactly this night was going to end, and he wasn’t going to make any brash assumptions. For now, they were relative strangers, attempting to sober up over pizza and light conversation. And Owen was more than okay with that.

“I can’t say I blame you for wanting to be on one end or the other of the country. There’s not too much to be desired about the middle if you ask me,” he replied with a smile, following her gaze towards the oven. Soon enough, she joined him on the counter, her foot linking with his, and his eyes flickered back and forth at the movement of their feet for a second and to her eyes. Something stirred in him, just slightly again, and he tried to stamp it down by distracting himself with his coffee.

“Do I like to read?” He asked her, almost incredulous, and scoffed like it was the most offensive thing she could have asked him. “Of course I do. I wanted to get into editing, but I haven’t quite got there yet. Someday, hopefully.” Currently, Owen worked at the library with a side gig to help bring in a little more money so he could afford to live on his own, but wasn’t feeling outgoing enough to share with Eliza everything he did for a living.

The timer was his saving grace, as he pushed himself off the counter. Finding a couple of pot holders, he took the pizza from the oven, a sigh of contentment parting his lips as the scent swirled around him. “I hope that this makes up for my lack of French fries,” he said, tilting his blue eyes towards Eliza, another grin tilting the corners of his lips up. While the pizza cooled, he grabbed a couple of plates, and didn’t wait much longer before he started cutting the pizza into eighths, serving his guest two to start with, two for himself.

“What do you like to read?” He asked before taking a bite of his pizza. “Tell me about your favorite book.”

Re: it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

Posted: Sun May 07, 2017 7:57 pm

by Simply

“The middle is like…these weird nothingness that you merely travel through to get from the east to the west. Except Chicago. I went there once.” To kill a woman. “And I really enjoyed it. During the summer, the wind felt so cool on my skin by the pier. I could have stood there for hours, listening to the kids and feeling the breeze.” Eli laughed, feeling the skin around her food go numb from where it touched his. It was just the alcohol.

Surprised filed her gaze as she head snapped towards him. “Really? An editor. Journalism or more along the lines of book editing – fantasy, historical fiction, non-fiction? Did you major in English in college?” Had he gone to college? She squinted slightly, as if trying to remember it on his file but the pages in her memory were blurred. Then the pizza was procured and offered to her. The smell of melted cheese and meats rushed upwards with the steam against her face. “Mmmm. I think I can survive on this.”

A grin played her face before she shoved pizza into her mouth. The grease dripped down her chin and she laughed, mouth stuffed to the brim with crust, sauce and cheese. She held her hand beneath her chin, cupping it to catch anything that might fall to the floor. The assassin grabbed a paper towel from behind him and wiped her face. “Attractive, no?” She laughed, returning to the half eaten slice he’d given her.

“I love to read, but I think you have just asked one of the most difficult questions a bibliophile could ever be asked.” The next bite was chewed thoughtfully. “Is it too morbid to say The Emperor of Maladies?” A grimace flickered across her face, almost ashamed to admit that such a terribly depressing non-fiction was one of her favorites. “It’s the history of cancer but I found it fascinating. Though,” a paused, finishing the slice of pizza much the same as a ravenous animal might, “Atonement is my most worn book. I think I have read it nearly twenty times through. I probably need a new copy at this point but it is hard to part with it.”

She finished the other slice and finished off her water. Eliza wiped her hands on a fresh paper towel and meandered into the small living area. She settled herself onto the couch, lying back against the arm. Her arm bent and she lowered her head down onto the crook. “Now you’re up, guacamole hater. Tell me a story about yourself – something from when you were younger.” She jerked her thumb towards the smaller space beside her that was open for him, should he want it. Though, the back of her mind whispered that she should leave. Her full stomach and buzz of booze won out again though. Just rest, they told her, you can finish your work tomorrow after you’ve relaxed. “I like stories.” She murmured, keeping her tired eyes on him.

Re: it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

Posted: Sun May 07, 2017 8:33 pm

by Dollface

Owen was working on his piece of pizza when her words reached him, shocked at what he’d told her about himself. “I did, actually – I’ve got my Masters, but it doesn’t seem to be doing me much good right now,” he stated with a chuckle, a slight shake of his head. When she asked about the finer details, his face warmed a bit at the mention of journalism, but he shook his head. “More along the lines of editing; fiction is what I would have preferred but…” The male gave a shrug of his shoulders. “One of these days it’ll happen.”

He hoped it did, at least. There was nothing wrong with the library, he’d been there for years now, but eventually he wanted to do more.

Now, he wasn’t thinking about it that much, and now he was laughing at the way she completely devoured her pizza. He didn’t answer her question, because honestly, even with the sauce dripping off her chin, Owen wanted to close the short distance between them and kiss her. Maybe not with pizza in their mouths, obviously. Still, the want to do so was still there.

The timing was definitely off; now wasn’t the moment. One could argue that there never was that right time, but they were talking, they were eating most importantly. Owen was even onto his second piece of pizza at the point that Eliza started talking books. “Atonement… I don’t think I’ve read that, but I definitely watched the movie at some point.” A pause as he set his plate down on the counter, leaving the remaining crust to his second piece. “Which I know is definitely considered a crime against humanity for someone who loves to read.”

They were both finished eating now, and Owen could tell that some of his buzz had worn. His coffee had cooled slightly as well, but he still drank it, and even poured a little more into his mug when Eliza wandered into his small living room. “Should I tell you about my first, horrific incident with guacamole?” He teased, trailing in before settling beside her on the couch, leaving his mug on the small table to his right. For a moment, he remained quiet, trying to think of something… pleasant from his childhood that he could tell her. For much of it, he was a confused child, trying to figure out what he was more than who. Trying to figure out how to control his abilities, how to hide them.

He tilted his head onto the back of the couch, eyes falling closed for just a moment before he felt that spinning feeling start. A memory clicked in his mind, and blue eyes wandered towards the girl beside him, his sleepy gaze full of amusement. “So, my aunt pretty much raised me, right? And from what I know about my extended family, it’s not very big, like I don’t even know if I have cousins,” he licked his lips, and mimicked her posture, propping his elbow on the back of the couch, he allowed his head to fall to the palm of his hand. “Needless to say, she had pretty much zero experience with children. Anyway, this was before I – I stayed with her permanently, but my mom was away and she was watching me. One of my first teeth was wiggly, and I asked her to help me pull it, but it wasn’t quite ready yet…” His voice trailed and he laughed. “I nearly passed out from seeing the blood, I think, and she had no clue what to do. She was screaming, afraid that she’d traumatized me, but I think I’m alright for the most part. I still don’t really like the sight of blood, but I don’t know many people who do.”

His other hand fell to her knee at that point, his thumb beginning to trace a slow, lazy circle against the dark fabric of her jeans. “Your turn. And I expect a good story from someone who reads so much they consider themselves a bibliophile.”

Re: it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

Posted: Sun May 07, 2017 9:08 pm

by Simply

Lazy gaze followed the slow way that he moved along, setting his coffee down and joining her on the couch. His body heat radiated gently from him, pressing against her leg. She drew the leg furthest from him under the other, but left the one against him where it was. As Eli listened to his story, she noticed that the normal hum under her skin quieted when he was near. It was unsettling and comforting at the same time. It was something new, the numbness that his contact brought to her. It soothed the constant buzz she had since her abilities had manifested.

The end of his tale brought a laugh from her mouth, pushing herself up from her reclined position to take in the relaxed one that he had assumed. “Blood doesn’t bother me so that’s not precisely a sensation I think that I’d be familiar with.” She giggled again, the idea of blood bothering her amusing – though she doubted he would make that leap. She had been trained in hand-to-hand combat, if her abilities ever failed her. Eli had drawn blood on more people that she cared to ever attempt to count. Licking her lips, she lowered her eyes to hand drawing patterns on her knee then upwards towards his mouth. She lingered there, long enough to be obvious before back to his eyes. Her own lip was drawn between her teeth, pressing gently down, focusing on the imperfect circles creating little tingles of coolness through her jeans.

“I’m a lover of stories but not necessarily a story teller.” Eli leaned back but towards him this time, her shoulder touching his. Her head tilted upwards and she examined the ceiling with mild interest. “But, I suppose I can try my hand at it. Ahem. We begin this tale on a warm summer’s day…” But then she laughed and turned her head to the side, looking at his hand and his face, absently flickered between the two. “I grew up going to this after school program for gifted kids,” Gifted being a particularly special word for these individuals. “But I wasn’t as talented as the rest of them – even the younger kids just took the to games and programs that were offered so much faster than I did. I didn’t quite fit in with the rest of them because I was terrible at every game and no one wanted me on their team. When I was about twelve, I was hitting that awkward stage where you desperately want to be like by the other kids, especially the older ones. This one girl was showing off the the group of older boys, right, by drinking coffee from the adult’s section and I thought it wouldn’t be a big deal and I could do that. Well…” She smirked, biting her lip again for a moment. “I took a big sip of decaf coffee from the cup I made myself. Not only was it molten lava hot, it tasted nothing like that the older girl had been describing as ‘no big deal, kinda sweet.’ And that, is precisely how I came to hate coffee.”

Eliza laughed. “I don’t know if that is the story you were hoping for but I thought it might serve.” Her buzz was diminishing but still clouding her mind. Almost hesitantly, she placed her hand on his arm, right beneath the level of his shirt. Her skin hummed, heightened momentarily before feeling precisely how putting a cold hand under hot water did. She inhaled slowly through her teeth and exhaled shakily. It was electrifying and not in an unpleasant way. Was this the alcohol affecting her interactions with other individuals who were magically inclined? What would it be like to kiss him? To feel that spread through her? Another shaky breath and she leaned forward slightly, but hesitated – stopped by the contract she knew she was obligated to fill in the very back of her mind. “Tell me a real secret.” She murmured, her voice softer than a bird’s feather, floating in the space of breath between them. “A real one.”

Re: it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

Posted: Sun May 07, 2017 10:07 pm

by Dollface

His hand felt like it was on fire, that electric current thrumming beneath his skin again. There was no missing the way her eyes flickered from his, just a hair lower, and without thinking he moved towards her just slightly. He made no move though, not as she spoke, spinning her own story now. Truthfully, it was hard for him to focus, to let the syllables and the words and sentences connect for a moment. But then he took in a deep breath, the movement of his thumb stilling, though he left his hand to rest against her leg.

Now, he listened, his attention rapt and another smile flickering across his face when she revealed just what made her hate coffee so much. “There-in lies the problem, Eliza,” her name was just a sigh from his lips, “first, you were drinking decaf. There’s really not much point in drinking decaf if you’re going to be drinking coffee. Second, you drank it black the first time, which might even be a graver mistake than the first.” His tongue flicked out over his lips, “but that story will do, I guess. I might still have to try to convert you, though.”

Then, her hand fell directly to his arm, and he swore he could practically hear the buzzing of the direct contact of her skin. Usually, something like this might pull a picture to his mind – maybe a memory from the person he was touching, or a thought that might be fluttering through their head at that particular moment. With Eliza, however, he drew nothing; he didn’t want to see anything, didn’t want to make that sort of trespass into her thought process, but he felt absolutely wired. There was a buzzing in his ears, in his own mind, and it took some effort to quell it in that moment, because Owen didn’t want to move an inch.

That hand on her leg shifted just the slightest bit higher, and as her body leaned closer to his; blue eyes now dropped to her mouth, watching as they formed the request for another secret. “A real one?” He repeated, tipping his eyes to hers now, a dark brow arched. “I thought the guacamole secret served its purpose earlier,” he whispered to her, mischief tangled in his words, though he knew he wasn’t going to get out of it without telling her something.

“You have to promise that you won’t tell anyone, of course,” he requested just as quietly as she’d spoken before. Owen couldn’t help but let his gaze drop to her lips again, tempted to forget about the secret, to close the distance between them. “I…” his voice trailed, his free hand lifting to her face. His thumb brushed against her jaw before his fingers toyed with her dark hair, brushing it back from her face again. “I don’t just work at the library. I have a second job working for a magazine, writing a column under a pseudonym. The even bigger secret, that you’ll have to earn, is what exactly I write.” That grin of his made its way over his lips again, as a sigh parted between them, eyes flickering to hers, holding her gaze. “Bonus secret,” he added with a tilt of his brow, “I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

Re: it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

Posted: Sun May 07, 2017 10:31 pm

by Simply

Every single movement that he made was electrifying and crippling at the same moment. She felt the tantalizing way his hand move, inched just slightly upwards, no longer making those circles against her jeans. Even as he stopped, as the cycle of numbness was now constant – she wished it wouldn’t quite end. The pounding of her own heart filled her ears in a panicked, flickering way it never did when she was on a job. Eliza had always been a steady, constant hum but when he was near she was disrupted, uneven.

She grinned at his mention of avocados. “Hardly. That was a surface secret. A real one.” She repeated, before he continued. A hasty nod of her head, confirming her ability to keep his secrets, sent strands of hair brushing across her shoulder and shading the space between their faces. The seclusion made his breath rush warmly down her neck and she worked very deliberately to keep from making her breath noticeable. Then he had to go and bring his hand to her face.

All of her thoughts ceased – stopped mid-track – the moment he touched her – skin to skin. A stillness entered her mind for a long second before she was able to resume her own thoughts, sluggishly. Focus on his words. She chided herself. Better yet, kill him and be done with it. But his thumb stroked the line of her jaw and then drew her hair back. How was she supposed to breathe? Was this part of his ability? No, her talents wouldn’t permit her to be persuaded this way and even if they did …she didn’t care night now. She needed more, something.

At his confession, Eliza smiled broadly, eyes flickered between his as she searched them. “A writer now…not just a fancy editor with a Master’s degree. I was unaware I was in the presence of such a smarty pants.” God, you sound stupid. The thought hit her and she scrunched her lips, before his bonus declaration hit her ears. Startled, she looked him directly in the eyes. Scrunches lips turned into a soft ‘O’ of surprise. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, threatening to explode out of chest. With her hand against her face, her mind couldn’t race but it moved as quickly as possible.

She considered the possibilities – she could just slip from her position onto his lap. She could draw back and leave – the smarter decision. Eli’s eyes flickered from dark green to a light blue as she tilted her head slightly. Slowly, she raised her hand from his arm to his neck, inching it upwards and back, brushing through the strands of his dark hair. Her fingers prickled with numbness and she had to know what it felt like, needed to know what it would be like – just a touch. The distance between them closed and she grazed his lips with her own. Like a fairy’s breath, it was the lightest touch she could have possibly bestowed upon him. Yet it electrified her, sending a shudder against her neck and down her spine to spread across her waist and to the tips of her toes. She drew a few inches back, inhaling unevenly. “What’s stopping you?” She whispered, barely forming the words as her mouth turned upwards just at one corner.

“And I can think of a few ways to earn a bit more of that secret and pseudonym, if you’re willing.” Eyes danced back and forth between his once more, before biting her lower lip. Her hand untangled itself from his hair and dropped downwards slightly to rest at the crook of his neck.

Re: it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

Posted: Sun May 07, 2017 10:54 pm

by Dollface

Owen hadn’t even given himself a chance to linger on his first confession before jumping to the second – the one he definitely deemed more important. He realized that he could have just kissed her by now, that there was hardly any space between them, and maybe it was… weird that he told her he’d like to, rather than just making the move to do it. But she was drunk, he was drunk, and he wanted to respect that invisible boundary line that lay between them. Sure, he’d brought her back to his apartment, they’d spent the majority of the night together, but that didn’t mean anything was supposed to happen.

Something seemed bound to happen, however.

Her movements were slow, the weight of her hand warm against his neck and he couldn’t help that he leaned into the touch just slightly. That buzzing feeling followed, intensifying, especially when she just barely grazed her lips against his. Eyes closed, his breath hitched, the grip of both his hands tightening just the slightest bit as she pulled away from him then. “I—” he prepared to answer her, before that smile appeared on her features and her next suggestion followed.

Another chuckle escaped him, “is that right, Eli?” He practically breathed the words again, and as her hand traveled downwards, his own did the same. The hand that had been in her hair drifted down to her waist and he pulled her towards him, closer, as if there was any room left, and he kissed her. His lips touched hers and it certainly wasn’t a kiss he’d ever experienced before, and if he was in his right mind, he might have been wondering if maybe, just maybe… Eliza was like him.

Instead, he assumed their inebriation had something to do with it. Because that kiss warmed him from his head to his toes, fire dancing on his fingertips as one hand gripped her side, the other at the back of her head, threading through her loose dark curls. His teeth nipped at her lower lip as he pulled back just slightly, leaving a kiss at the corner of her mouth, another against her jaw. “It’s going to take quite a bit to get that secret out of me, you know,” he whispered, his mouth hovering close to her ear.

Owen had tipped his head to look at her this time. His hands lowered to her hips, beneath the bottom of her top but not daring yet to drift over her skin despite the fact he was itching to roam – he kept himself in check. “I’d like to hear a secret from you now, please. Don’t think you could distract me that much. And no more of this coffee slandering nonsense.”

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it's just i can't seem to sleep these days and you can't seem to stop digging this grave

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Page 2 of 8

by Simply

Dank darkness descended on the abandoned outskirts of the tiny town, pushing the sparkling light outwards and away, up into the retreating sky. The typical sounds of the wooded forest were absent. Completely and utterly absent. It was as though all of the noise had been sucked from the air and displaced-

“Aghh, stop, Em.” Pale hands waved in the air between the pair that occupied opposing chairs in a small living room. “It’s…gah,” the speaker stuck out her tongue and shook her shoulders, “it’s so unbearably verbose. Make it stop, I can’t go on any longer.” The woman took a sip of the steaming beverage in her chipped coffee mug in an effort to wash the language away.

“He thinks himself the next J.K. Rowling and he’s only sixteen years old, Selene. With proper encouragement,” Emily was promptly cut-off from her words, mid-sentence.

“And the burning of his thesaurus,” her companion interjected, smirking, tucking a blonde strand of hair behind her ear. The light strands mixed with the darker ones, giving her hair a shine when beams of sunlight would hit it. She laughed, again, leaning back into the plush cushion of the chair. Merriment danced in her gray eyes as she swiped the paper from across the coffee table.

“Watch it. Could give me a paper cut.” Emily responded, but moved to cradle her mug instead. Selena flipped through the pages and then tossed them into the air in irritation.

“You have got to be joking with me. “ She shook her head. “Seriously, burning his thesaurus would be doing the whole world a favor. Never pick it up. Just let it rot there on the floor forever.” Sipping her coffee, her attentions focused back on her friend, who pushed herself off of the love seat and scooped up the paper.

“Be careful with these. I do have the grade them and give them back.”
“I’ll save you the trouble. Big, fat F.”
“Oh, it is not that bad. You wrote worse poetry about Kevin Lovett in middle school.” This elicited a groan from her friend.
“Don’t remind me.” The moan turned into a barking laugh. Interested gaze flickered across her friend’s face as Emily retrieved the wordy script from the floor.
“You know it’s half past ten, right?
“Ha. Funny.”
“No, seriously.”
“Fuck, Em. Come on, why didn’t you tell me sooner?!” Selena let her cup clattered onto the side table and attempted to steady it with shaky hands. “He’s going to kill me. I was supposed to open up an hour ago.” As she moved through the small apartment, she striped herself of her current lounge clothes. Exposed skin erupted in goosebumps from the chill in the air. A flurry of ‘fucks’ were muttered as she entered her bedroom and dressed herself. A white silk blouse covered her upper half and she struggled to jump into her jeans.

Sitting on her bed, she anxiously grabbed a pair of mismatched socks and yanked them onto her small feet, roughly. “Where are my boooots?” She muttered to herself, cursing all the while. She dropped to her knees and peered under the bed, finding no leather shows there. As she hurried back towards the living room, gray eyes spied them just under the chair she had occupied earlier. In a sweeping motion, she grabbed her purse and the shoes before running out the door with laughter following her down the steps to her car.

The town passed by in a blur to the frantic woman, but outside the town went about its usual business and remained ignorant of Selena's plight. She whipped past the high school, where the telepathic Mrs. George waited out front. Normally, she only screened the children mentally if there was something afoot but she always did a quick monitor to determine if anyone was bringing anything illicit onto school grounds. Selena had gotten caught with a few of her father’s love charms once – trying to sell them to the other girls to make some cash for the weekend. It had been foolish – she thought she could shield herself like the other witches. Unfortunately, that was not the care.

The other cars on the street displayed their custom license plate tags, emblazoned with the protective wars to prevent collisions. Not so much self-driving, as they were protective. People were capable of speeding and crashing but it would protect those inside for any life-threatening injuries. As she neared her destination, the witch passed the Numbers Nook where minor magicians and the commoners could attempt to decipher the future ad the secrets of their own universes by examining the numbers they encountered in daily life. Everything was perfectly normal.

Except that the shop Selena worked at was not open at promptly 9:30 as it had been doing for over a century.

A dark Ford escape waited in the parking lot of the Hervieux Medicinals shoppe. Slinging gravel, Selena whipped her burgundy Toyota Camry into the owner’s space. Frantically, wild eyes searched for the black truck that was her father’s. It was nowhere in sight and she exhaled a sigh of relief. She exited her car hurriedly, locking it behind her with a click of the keyless control.

“Hey Mrs. Parson. I am so, so sorry for keepin’ you waitin’.” She smiled and the freckles along the bridge of her nose inched up closer to her eyes.

“It’s fine, Selena. Wouldya mind mixing something extra for me, though? It wasn’t on my order.”

“Absolutely, Mrs. Parson. Least I can do for you.” Selena turned her back on the aging woman and slipped the golden key into the locks on the outside of the shop’s door. Entering, she flicked on the lights and the electricity began to hum within the walls. She worked her way through the short aisles and to the front of the shop, hearing Mrs. Parson’s cane click on the floor behind her.

“What can I make you?” Selena tossed the keys onto the counter and began rummaging through brown paper parcels beneath the cash register. She found the one with her own handwriting on the front, spelling out Mrs. Margaret Parson. She remembered filling the order two days prior. Some salve for arthritis and a poultice for eczema.

“Something…” The brown eyes were framed by gently rolling wrinkles. “Something to help Alfred Tinnamen realize that I’m…a catch.” The elderly woman said and Selena could not help but smile at her.

“You want a love potion?” She always teased those that came in for such things. It was something that she found rather frivolous. The community in which she resided had accepted the magically gifted among them and in return, the witches of the coven provided services and an ever growing and readily stable economy to the town. The Hervieux Medicinal shoppe had been open for nearly a century, providing remedies, potions and useful spells to those for a price. Selena was the third Hervieux to work in the shop after attending university in Charleston.

The blue in Selena’s eyes sparkled and she pushed the parcel across the counter. Elbows met the wood of the counter as she leaned over. “You are aware, Mrs. Parson, that such spells are not permanent and that the effects can wear off easily enough. He won’t be a lovesick puppy. He’ll just…begin to notice your positively qualities more. But…he may not be interested in that way, still.”

“I know, I know. It’s just so hard, at my age, to spend so much time alone together. I am hoping that something might peak his interest enough to give us some quality time.”

“Of course, I understand, but we do require that you sign this waver.” Leaning back, the young woman filed though a stack of papers and handed a stapled packet to the interested party. Selena placed a black pen on top of it of the papers and rang up the amount. “We could have that ready for you by this afternoon around 3, if that works with your schedule.”

“More than swift, Selena, thank you.” She said as she allowed her cane to hand from the counter, taking the pen to sign on the last page. “We are glad you are back from college. We thought Charleston may steal you from us.” You and me both. Selena thought as she calculated the total.

“Seventy-six and fifty two cents.” A pause. “I did love it there but this was always where I was supposed to be.” The patron did not pick up on the undercurrent of resignation to her tone. She paid what was due and clinked her way out of the store with her parcel in the carpet bag that she carried as a purse.

Selena tied up and began to collect the orders that had been placed online overnight. The silence settled on her and proved to be far too deafening. Pausing from her collections, the witch flipped open her Macbook and searched her Spotify until she settled on the Acoustic Afternoon playlist. It would do for now. She began to combine ingredients and worked through lunch, namely because the first two spells she tried were terribly unsuccessful. It wasn’t uncommon, for her to jumble an incantation or a hand motion for a spell the first time. As the heir to the coven, Selena was a startling disappointment when compared to her father and his seemingly endless supply of steady magic.

In spell classes as a child, she would end up practicing far into the night and never master what the others had grasped so quickly. Of course, everyone had their strong suites. Hanna was gifted at telekinesis. Paul managed to make pyrotechnic displays in Las Vegas look like children’s birthday parties. It had made her envious, once, but she soon grew to accept the fact that she was mediocre, at best. Her father tried not to make her feel inadequate but she could see it in his eyes.

Deep in her own thoughts, she finished the infatuation potion. She bottled it and wrote instructions, much like modern medical prescriptions. Pasting it to the glass, she packaged it carefully and wrote Mrs. Parson’s on the front in her flowing script. The door chimed around two thirty and she whirled around from her computer.

“Have it all ready, Mrs. Parson and I wrote- Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else. Is there something that I can help you with?” Selena called out to the new arrival. She had not seen him before.

Re: those who don't believe in magic will never find it

Posted: Tue Jan 05, 2016 10:35 pm

by rejecteddounut

"Eye of... N-" the dark-haired boy frowned, glancing up from the book at the red-haired woman who was standing before a cauldron, a spoon in her hand hovering above the cauldron.

"Sound it out, love," she stated with a smile, patiently waiting for him to finish reading the ingredient before adding it even though she knew what it was.

"Nnn-new..t? Eye of newt!? We're using newt eyeballs?!" He pulled a face, sticking out his tongue in disgust. “I don’t want to touch eyeballs.”

A tinkling laugh escaped the woman and she set the spoon to the side, “Oh, Owen, it’s not real eyeballs.” She walked behind the boy who was sitting at the large wooden table and leaned over him, putting a finger on the words.

“Almost all of these ingredients have secret names. What is in this book, this grimoire, is a code. It’s to prevent someone from getting the book that doesn’t know anything about magic and doing harmful things to others.”

“And using magic to do harmful things is dangerous,” Owen stated firmly. It was one of the first rules he remembered being taught. “Cause it could come back to you three-fold.” He wasn’t exactly sure what three-fold was, but he didn’t imagine it was a good thing.

His mother nodded, kissing the top of his head. “That’s right. Eye of Newt is actually Mustard Seed. And Elf Leaf is Lavender,” she pointed at an ingredient he named off earlier.

“Mustard seed? Like what we have on burgers?” He raised his eyebrows, tilting his head to look up at his mother with a curious expression.

She smiled, her nose wrinkling with her amusement. “Exactly, but that doesn’t mean you can squirt mustard in this potion, okay?” She wandered back over towards the cauldron, throwing in the appropriate amount of eye of newt. “What’s next?”

Pulling the book close, Owen pressed a finger to the other words. “Stir…” he paused, remembering this phrase from another spell, “stir clockwise until all ingredients mixed well.”

***

Owen blew out the candles on the cake, grinning as the people around the table (mostly women) around the table clapped. Picking up the wax numbers, he licked the icing off the 1 and then the 3 before handing them to his mother. "Thanks for this, everyone," he said with another smile. This was pretty much all he wanted for his birthday; all of the women in the coven to be together. It was rare that they were all here at the same time, and even then there were a few missing. They had sent cards and gifts with others or sent them in the mail and Owen understood that they had responsibilities that they couldn’t get away from—important spells needed to be cast or clients to tend to.

This was all that he wanted for his thirteenth birthday though. He didn’t care about the presents; he just wanted the coven as whole as possible because he knew that they would disperse and he would officially begin his studies in the craft. His mother and all the others had taught him many things about magic since he was a child. His aunts and uncles—as he called them—had drifted in and out of his life over the years. Not in a bad way, they were all loving and sent him letters and gifts.

Some of them stayed with him and his mother in their creaky old Victorian two-story house for various lengths over the years. They all had something to teach him: Louise had her scrying, Mark with his herb gardening, Muriel showed him so many things that he couldn’t even list them all. Once they were satisfied with what he knew at that point in his life, they would move back to where they came from or wherever their family had drifted to while they were away.

Now that it was his thirteenth birthday, his lessons would change. He would leave the house he grew up in and travel from one side of the states to the other and everywhere in between; Owen would live with the various members of the coven and learn more from them for the next few years.

His mother pressed a kiss to the top of his head as she finished passing out all of the slices of cake to everyone and produced a wrapped package from the small table behind her that held his gifts. “Here, love, this one is from me.”

Owen grinned, carefully unwrapping it because he didn’t know if it contained something fragile. More than once, he had gotten old books for presents. This was a book, but it wasn’t an old one. In fact, it seemed brand new. He could smell the fresh leather scent of the bound pages. Flipping through it, he could tell that it was made by hand and it was completely blank. There was obviously a lot of love put into it and he recognized most of the symbols that were stamped into the cover. It was then that he realized that what he was being given was his own grimoire.

"Oh, wow.." He breathed, delicately running his fingers over the symbols stamped into the leather. He had touched many grimoires. He knew that there were some that were passed down through generations--like his mother's--and there were others that were personalized to the individual. "Thank you." The birthday boy lifted his head to look at his mother before glancing at the rest of his coven. He was glad to have them, even if they weren't the most traditional of covens.

***

For the next seven years, Owen bounced from one side of the country to the other. He stayed at least a few months at each home, learning all he could from them. There were times where he just spent a summer and then there was the last town that held quite a few members of the coven where he stayed a year and a half. Once he turned twenty, he was on his own. Not in the sense that the coven completely kicked him out and cut him off, but they all encouraged him to make his own path. To find himself and then decide what to do. They chipped in for his funds and told him that their doors were always open if he felt he needed them.

He had spent a few months with his mother while saving more money and she had been so proud and impressed with his magic skills, but Owen knew that he had to try figure out what he did best. He had to understand himself before he could know what he had to offer to the coven. So after the winter snow melted, he got in his beat up car that he bought from one of the coven kids when he turned sixteen and headed out into the world.

Growing from a boy to a young man, Owen learned many things, but even now, at the age of 23, he knew that he still didn’t know everything. In fact, being “kicked out” actually helped him understand more of the world and of magic than he would’ve ever known by staying with his coven. Over the course of his wandering years, Owen came across many magical families who were extremely tight-knit, ones that never left their hometowns and, while they did have knowledge that he didn’t, it just seemed a bit strange to him. It felt like limiting yourself in more ways than one, but most were as happy and as loving as his own coven, so it may just have seemed strange because he was an outsider.

Arriving in the small South Carolina town, Owen knew that there was such a coven, which was a good thing because he was running low on supplies and energy within himself. He decided that he would try to make a living here for a few months. It was always safer to find a town with magical roots or—at the very least—an acceptance. Life could be dangerous for a wandering witch at times.

He didn’t want to trample on any of the business dealings of the coven that seemed to be very firmly settled here, but more than once Owen had assisted a family and learned from them. Perhaps the same could happen here.

Owen milled about the town before making his way to the apothecary. He definitely needed supplies before he did anything else. Walking through the door, the girl started chattering away and he sort of blinked and glanced around before he realized that she thought he was someone else. “Oh, um.. yes. Definitely not Mrs. Parson.”

His eyes wandered about the store briefly before settling on her once more. “I’m Owen. I was wondering if you sold your ingredients individually instead of already prepared.” He didn’t see any evidence of anything being sold for witches themselves, but they could have those in a separate room.

Re: those who don't believe in magic will never find it

Posted: Thu Jan 21, 2016 10:49 pm

by Simply

The individual that stood in the hallway of the shop was certainly not Mrs. Parsons. He was tall, towering over the squat shelves that lined the hallway. He was currently occupying the area of homeopathic pain salves and tonics. (Fortunately for Selena, there were some remedies and potions that could be concocted and stored, rather than made to order – otherwise, how would she ever keep up reading the online blogs.) She had never seen him before and wondered if he was one of those historical wanderers. Every couple weeks, they would have an old couple or a young historian poking about the town. To them, their shop would look like at a classic little store stuck in the old ways and selling “tonics” and “potions” as trinkets and souvenirs as homage to the old ways.

“Pleasure to meet you, Owen.” The response was in her best shopkeeper tone and she rounded the corner of the register’s counter. “What particularly are you looking for?” Her eyebrows knotted together in the middle, in confusion. After all, she knew every single witch that lived in their town and this boy was certainly not a member of their coven. They always didn’t have many visitors and the store typically had a strict policy of not selling singular ingredients to patrons. That had ended horribly nearly a century ago, when a young mortal decided to make her own anti-aging serum.

“We do have a couple of packaged ingredients, but what do you need them for? We don’t sell them to mortals.” She put on her sweetest smile and motioned to a couple of pre-prepared elixirs. “There are a variety of prepared potions and salves for what bothers you, or I can create something more specific.” She brushed back a blonde strand of hair from her face, just as the door chimed again behind Owen.

“Mrs. Parsons!” The grin on her face became more genuine and she turned her back to the new arrivals. Returned to her counter, she withdrew the two parcels she had prepared for the older woman. “Remember what I said, now. I did not say it to be coy.” Selena’s eyes sparkled delightedly and Mrs. Parsons blushed as she placed her purchasing in her knitting bag. Placing it on her shoulder, she tapped her way out to the door.

“I’m sorry, did you decide on something that you wanted?” Selena inquired. She tucked her hands under her arms, letting them rest across her chest. It had been a relatively dull afternoon and she was eager to close up shop. The little Italian restaurant around the corner always had $6.99 endless breadsticks and pesto pasta on Tuesdays. She was starving and as though on cue, her stomach gurgled. She laughed, embarrassed. “Sorry.” Red tinted her cheeks.

Re: those who don't believe in magic will never find it

Posted: Thu Feb 04, 2016 12:36 pm

by rejecteddounut

He wished that the damned bell on the door hadn’t rang when he walked in. Owen liked to watch other people and size up the situation before he barreled in. He liked to try and read someone so he would know how to approach them. There had been times when he had said the wrong thing about a person or their coven and had gotten disapproval. Once he had even gotten escorted out of town, but that was a serious misunderstanding.

The young man stood there as she asked him what he was looking for. Oh, maybe he should’ve actually gone through his supplies and made a list before coming here. He should’ve been a little more prepared. “Well, um…” he patted his pockets, trying to figure out of his small notepad was in his jeans or his button-up plaid shirt. Usually he did keep a small list of things that he might need. The poor boy was a bit scatter-brained at times and that helped… when he remembered to write the things down. “I’ll have to think,” he stated as she continued talking.

At the mention of ‘mortals,’ the corners of his lips twitched into a smile. That phrase always amused him. After all, witches weren’t immortal, not in the strictest definition. They just seemed to live a bit longer than those who had no magic in their blood. “Oh, no prepared stuff. I want—“ he was cut off by the chiming of the bell and Owen scooted closer to the salves the girl had pointed to in an attempt to stay out of the way of the business transaction. He did give the prepared items on display a look over, but it was absolutely nothing that he needed… or wanted. A lot of it seemed to be things for aches and pains, or for vanity purposes.

Once the old woman was gone, he turned his eyes back on the blonde. “I’ll have to get my list on what I need; I’ve forgotten it in my car.” Owen stated as her stomach growled. There was absolutely no way he could’ve held back his chuckle, even if he was trying to be polite. “That’s another thing I need. A recommendation on where to eat. I’m not from here. Which you probably know considering the size of the town,” he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around to see if there was a clock.

“Oh, and I’m a Traveler. Not a mortal.” He gave her the phrase for witches who don’t claim a coven, but then corrected himself in case this was a town that eyed Travelers with suspicion. “I have a coven. We’re just… different. Wanderers.” Owen knew that there was no sort of word for what his coven did, but he tried to set ‘wanderers’ out there everywhere he went. “And I’m low on supplies… and food… If you would like, you could show me a good place to eat?” He quirked a brow, tilting his head and hoping he didn’t come off too forward, but it was always a relief to find a witch that was close to his age. They were usually more open about his ways.

Re: those who don't believe in magic will never find it

Posted: Mon Feb 29, 2016 8:10 pm

by Simply

Selena watched him flounder with his pockets, in search of something that would aid in him describing to her what he required. A smile ached to press against her lips, but she did not want to seem rude to a new customer, even if he appeared a bit absent-minded. Yet, she was easily able to when he smiled at her at the mention of mortals. Clearly she had misspoken, but her attention was drawn away.

When Mrs. Parsons left, she strode back over towards him. The heels of her boots clicked on the tiled floor and came to a halt next to him. “Okay, well we’re about to close up if you want to…” The rumble of her stomach was terribly loud and the sheepish grin she gave only served to bolster the blush on her cheeks at his amusement. She almost offered to show him a good spot for dinner when he mentioned his coven. Confusion flickered across her face and was slowly replaced with surprise. “Oh. We don’t get many Travelers.” She rubbed at the back of her neck, leaving small red marks on her pale skin. Blond hair brushed back over, hiding the spots she left behind.

“In fact, I think you’re the first that I’ve ever met here….or anywhere in fact. Wanderers. Hmmm, I can’t say that I have come across the concept before. Though, I honestly don’t get much interaction with outside covens. South Carolina is the extent of my magical travels. Were you raised that way? Or did you just decide upon that one day?” She rambled on about Travelers as though they were cute animals at the zoo and she finally got to see one in real life. “Sorry, it just sounds terribly fascinating, is all and I’m being horrible unprofessional.” Thumbs hooked themselves into her back pockets to keep her from gesturing with them any further.

“I can help you with the supplies, but we’re just about to close up for today.” She looked around. Her eager stomach longing for the meal that she promised Emily she’d meet her for. She was trying to cover up for her earlier probing inquiry. Then he asked her to dinner. Or did he? Yes, yes, he did. Chewing on the inside of her lower lip, Selena found that one of her hands hand come back to scratch the back of her neck again.

“Sure. I’m meeting a friend for dinner at this burger place down the street if you want to join us. Then you can come back to the store tomorrow and I can take you into the back.” A moment of silence and then her face broke out in redness, flushing down her neck. “To show you our individual items. Like, what you’re looking for. Into the back to get the things that you want, I mean.” The words ran together like a marathon. Dear God, she was not good at interacting with people she hadn’t known her whole life. She turned her back and him and headed up to the counter. “We can walk down there and I can point out a few other spots to you that may come in handy while you’re here.”

Setting her computer in her bag, she swung it up on her shoulder and moved back over to him. “How long are you planning on staying, anyways?” She started towards the door and waited for him to follow her out. She drew the ancient keys out of her purse after a fair bit of rummaging. Locking the store and checking with a shake of the door, she moved off to the right. “There isn’t much to do here and I fear for the mental status of the poor unfortunate soul that told you to stop through here on your travels.”

Re: those who don't believe in magic will never find it

Posted: Mon Apr 18, 2016 7:50 pm

by rejecteddounut

Owen decided that he liked the girl standing before him, not in any… romantic sort of way, but she seemed genuine and the fact that she kept kind of blundering with her actions and speech was amusing. It had been a few weeks since the young man had held any sort of decent conversation with anyone, especially anyone who had a magic in their blood—which was why he asked her to show him a place to eat. People liked showing off the gems of their hometown; the places they miss the most when they roam. He definitely had a few that he wanted to go to when he was homesick.

“You may have met Travelers before, but just didn’t know it. Some have had bad experiences in towns with covens and so they keep to themselves until they need supplies.” With a nod, he patiently stood there while she seemed to be doing all of the necessary closing up for the shop. “As for Wanderers, I think my coven may be the only one? Or, at least, we’re so few that we’ve never really crossed paths. I’ve never had anyone I’ve met in my travels that knew what a Wanderer was unless they’d already met someone from my coven.”

Her enthusiasm and questions didn’t faze him any. Owen was glad to talk about how he grew up. “I was raised this way. My coven has a few homes throughout the country where we can stay when we need to—but there are times where we just get the itch to wander.” His shoulders lifted in a shrug as he chewed on the corner of his lip. No matter how many times he described what his coven did, he never was really sure what to say to others. He knew, from his travels, that it was strange for a coven to not really be in the same town, raising their children together, and pouring over their grimoires together. As she had spoken of, there were covens that didn’t have very much interaction with others, actually refused to expand and grow—which seemed like a good way to stifle yourself in multiple ways, but Owen let them decide their own ways because he knew his were strange to an outsider.

The young man nodded while she stumbled over her words of taking him in the back. Until she went to correct herself, Owen hadn’t really put any idea except an innocent one to what she said. But then, he had to press his lips together to keep from laughing.

“I’d appreciate being shown around. I’ve made the mistake more than once of choosing the wrong restaurant in a town like this.” For Owen, those mistakes were as simple as thinking it would taste good because of how it looked from the outside or choosing a place that was rather unwelcoming of his kind. Some people seemed to just be able to sense that he wasn't mortal and going into a town that was segregated was never a good thing with his luck of choosing the places to eat that hated witches.

He followed along beside her, keeping a lazy stroll because he was sure he would out walk her with his long legs. Another shrug rolled from his shoulders as he took in the scenery. “I’m not sure how long I’ll stay. It depends on whether I’m accepted, if I can sustain myself here. If I don’t see things going positively in a few weeks, then I’ll find somewhere else to go. There’s a lot of interesting places out there that I still haven’t explored.”

Re: those who don't believe in magic will never find it

Posted: Thu Jun 23, 2016 9:30 pm

by Simply

“I can see, that.” She brushed her bottom lip with her finger, rubbing the corner and dragging it down as they walked along. “We’re a pretty close-knit group of people. The older folks then to like our traditions.” Selena smiled a little. It was adorable, the way the older coven members would get flustered when someone came up with an idea that deviated from the very straightforward path that they had delineated for the coven’s journey. Being the leader’s daughter, well, she had never been one for rebellion. She towed the line. Once upon a time, she had mentally considered not coming back after college but the thought faded with time and here she ended up – walking the streets of her hometown with a stranger.

“Not much to choose from, but I can definitely show you around here.” As they walked along, bright eyes flickered over the streets she rarely looked at in detail. “Over there, that’s a great breakfast spot. They make their doughnut holes hot, instead of just sticking the ones from the day before in a bag. You’ll eat a dozen before you’ve realized what you’ve done.” A smile graced her face and she turned back towards him. “You know where to get the best magical supplies now, even if the owner’s daughter did not do a great job at first introduction.” Selene was adept at poking fun at herself and it did not bother her for a moment to bring attention to things that had previously been rather awkward. “ How do you plan to make a living here – what’s your focus, I mean?” Most witches had an area of expertise that assisted them in work. Their town wasn’t large and the witch population was small but prominent in the community. They were well accepted and encouraged to use their gifts to better their society.

They rounded the corner and she stopped beneath a red awning. “Mind if we wait here for my friend? She’s always running late at the end of the day. Finishing up school – she teaches the highschoolers English. She works miracles, though there are some hopeless cases in that class. She doesn’t practice magic.” The last sentence was added as an afterthought, with a wave of her hand. Shortly after she finished speaking though, her roommate rounded the corner down the way.

“Hey Selene and…you are,” Emily smiled broadened when she took in Owen.
“This is Owen. He’s passing through town. Met him at the shop and decided he wasn’t too frightening to show around town.”

“Well it’s a pleasure to meet you Owen. I’m Emily.” They walked inside and Selena cast a glance back at Emily, who walked in between her and Owen. Emily raised both of her eyebrows and gave a big smirk. Selena’s eyebrows knitted together with a roll of her eyes. It hadn’t even crossed her mind – though clearly it had not slipped past Emily’s notice.

Seated at the blue leather booth, Emily slid in next to her friend as to leave the opposite open for the new arrival. “So, Owen, what brings you to our little town. I know it wasn’t the booming tourist industry.” Emily smiled. Selena leaned back, letting Em take the reins of the conversation. That was the norm. Emily was much more of a social butterfly than Selena was – not to say that Selena didn’t enjoy the company of others, but she was less natural at engaging others than Emily.

Bright eyes wandered over Owen as he answered, as if trying to discern his abilities, his past and his future just by merely observing him. Unsuccessful, she turned her gaze out the window until the waitress arrived and took their order for drinks. Cherry coke for Selena, water for Emily – always healthy that one.

A small lull in the conversation permitted the witch an opening. “If you had to eat one thing during your entire time here, I would recommend the steak-wrapped chicken. It sounds excessive and if you don’t like meat then it is certainly not for you. I don’t know if you’re more holistic, y’know, some witches are. They really like the whole purity of nature and body stuff. Not that that’s a bad thing necessarily but…” she shrugged and realized she was blubbering again. “It’s not my thing, at least.”

Re: those who don't believe in magic will never find it

Posted: Thu Jun 30, 2016 11:42 pm

by rejecteddounut

The witch nodded slowly while his new-found friend mentioned coven traditions, but he said nothing. It wasn’t his place to, in his opinion. He’d never experienced it and so he didn’t know if his coven’s way was better or worse than hers. And he wanted to be polite since she was being so nice and to showing him around town. Even if she didn’t think this place was anything special, Owen had yet to come across any place that was deathly boring. Each town had its quirks; he was fairly sure he was looking at one that belonged to this town as she pointed out restaurants.

A small chuckle escaped him as Selene brought up her poor service. “I won’t give you a one-star review on yelp just yet, so you’ve got time to redeem yourself and the store.” He grinned and then shrugged as the conversation shifted. He was already feeling like he was going to get along with her just fine and, if the rest of her coven acted the same way, then he might stay in the town for a nice bit of time. “I guess I’ll see what’s needed around here. I.. don’t really have anything I’m super strong at, but I’ve learned quite a bit. My coven doesn’t really have people who focus on one thing…” Owen’s voice curved upwards in a slight questioning tone even though his sentence wasn’t a question. “Everyone has their strengths, definitely, but we also try to learn as much as we can.”

The young man knew that this was yet another quirk of his coven and sometimes he felt awkward talking about it—usually when other witches gawk at him like he said his coven likes to try and grow an extra eye for clarity or sacrifice cute kittens—so he was glad when Selene changed the subject about meeting a friend. “Oh, sure thing. If she’s anything like you, I’d be delighted to meet her.”

Okay, so he was acting a little suave with that last bit, but she was pretty and there was a chance that her friend was pretty. Not that… he was going to be creepy. But Owen was a young man and thought girls around his age were cute.

And her friend was definitely cute. He smiled and gave a nod as they were introduced. “Nice to meet you, Emily. And, Selene is being a bit polite about our encounter. She gave terrible customer service and now she’s trying to make up for it by showing me places to eat.” Owen said it in a teasing manner, hoping that the fellow witch wouldn’t get offended by a stranger saying such things.

As Emily took over the conversation, he explained to her a similar thing that he had previously mentioned to Selene: being a witch, a Wanderer, and how he might stay in this town for an indeterminate amount of time depending on how things go. When Selene perked back up, Owen had to hold back a laugh from the way she babbled on. He couldn’t quite tell if that was a nerves thing or if it were just her personality. “Sounds pretty good. I might give that a go. Some of my coven are vegetarians or, at the very least, eat only fish. I can understand why, but I’m just too much of a meatatarian to give up things like bacon.”

They made their orders to the waitress and he handed over the menus before settling his attention back on the ladies. “So, what about you two? Selene mentioned you don’t practice magic. How did you become friends? Is your coven one that mingles education with mortals?” He pulled a face as he finished speaking, turning his eyes to Emily. “I hope you’re not offended by the word mortal…” Owen had come across some people that were, though, it was usually in a town where coven / mortal relations were tense.

Re: those who don't believe in magic will never find it

Posted: Tue Jul 05, 2016 9:45 pm

by Simply

Well, he was quite the charmer….until her ratted her out. “Hey! I’ll have you know that it is quite alarming to be talking to Mrs. Parsons and find an imposter standing there, looking like…” she waved her hand in front of him, up and down indicating his appearance, “you.” But she grinned a little as she perused the menu idly, looking at words she must have seen nearly an infinite amount of times. Growing up in a smaller town, with more limited restaurant options would do that. Hell, Selene could probably have written it verbatim at the age of ten. Her mother died when she was young and her father was certainly no chef. They ate here so frequently that the owner named a pie after Selena – mostly to cheer her up in those first few weeks but subsequently kept it because it was terribly popular.

“Mmm, no,” Emily said, keeping her eyes on the man before her with an amused smirk playing her lips. “We’ve known each other since we were children, used to live across the street from one another until we moved to the next town over – Fairbanks. My father had gotten a promotion but it wasn’t a long commute, especially since we Selene was constantly stealing her father’s car at fourteen.

“Borrowing. I borrowed my dad’s car, thanks. And, I haven’t wrecked a vehicle unlike other people at this table.” She drew out the word other in a rather annoyed fashion and drew the cherry coke through her straw, content to slip back out of the conversation her companions were having.

“Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted,” Emily continued on. “No, I’m very much a mortal and it does not offend me. The majority of our town is comprised of non-magical people. Most of Selena’s coven tends to marry other witches. It’s encouraged.” She didn’t discuss that any further. “Y’all aren’t immortal by any means but it makes a kind of sense, I suppose. Selene tried to institute remarkably unremarkable or R.U.s, when we were younger but it didn’t quite take.” She cast a side-glance at her friend, who was busy shrugging and appearing quite baffled by the lack of appreciation for her new name. “We all go to school together. Our witches are quite accommodating. When they take spelling, you know which one I mean, we take home economics or other elective courses. All witch babies are required to take the courses.”

Selena snorted. They weren’t her favorite classes. Emily looked at her for a moment before a carton of loaded fries was set in front of her companion. The witch took a handful and in a very unladylike fashion, shoved a few in her mouth. Licking the cheese off her fingers, she shoved it closer towards the man across the booth from her. “Wansome?” It came out as one word. “They’re pretty good.” She added when she had sufficiently swallowed her food.

“So that’s us in a nutshell. Couldn’t shake Selene in college and now she just lives in my house.”
“I pay rent too, y’know.”
“And sometimes it is actually on time.”
“Technicalities.”

Emily stole some of Selena’s fires and ate them in a much more appropriate manner. “If you choose to stay a while, Owen, you should hang out with us more. We’re quite fun.”

“Speak for yourself, Em. I’m terribly boring.” Selena smiled a little and finished off the last of her appetizer just in time for them to bring their entrees. The waitress filled up her coke and inquired if they needed anything additional.

“I teach at the high school so you will be left with Selene during the day, if you think you can manage.”

Re: those who don't believe in magic will never find it

Posted: Sat Dec 30, 2017 11:48 pm

by rejecteddounut

Owen grinned as he listened to the two women banter back and forth. Even if they hadn’t told him, he could tell that they’d been friends for a long time just by the way they were speaking. He honestly wasn’t too sure if he could say he had a friendship like theirs. Even though he did make a lot of friends by being a Traveler, the young witch didn’t feel like he had formed such a bond as theirs with anyone. The closest he got was his cousin, Michael. They often stayed with each other while they bounced from coven member to coven member and they still occasionally crossed paths. They texted every day. In fact, he had just sent a text to Michael before he walked in Selene’s store to say what town he might be staying in.

“You can’t go wrong with cheese fries,” he gave a soft laugh at Selene’s enthusiasm for the fries. Owen moved to pick up his fork in an attempt to be polite about picking up someone else’s food, but there was a fry dangling off the edge that was just dying to be eaten, so he plucked it up and stuffed it in his mouth. “Oh, you’re right. This isn’t just any ol’ cheese.” He wiped a finger over his bottom lip where he could feel a faint string of cheese and popped that in his mouth too.

The young man nodded while Emily continued on. “I’m hoping to stay here for a bit, actually. Maybe learn a few things from Selene’s coven before moving on. It’s what Traveler’s do.” He paused for a second, trying to think if he spoke about this before Emily had joined the party. “My coven is a bit different from others. We don’t stick together in a pack. Our goal is to learn all we can from the world and.. just…” Owen trailed off, trying to think of how to word it. “Just sort of implement it in our lives. If that makes sense. We’re quite far from traditional covens that try to intermarry with other witches or just interact with only their coven or nearby ones—which is pretty hard in today’s world, but,” he waved his hand, dismissing all that.

“Anyway, yes. I’m hopefully going to be staying. And, I guess dealing with Selene would be okay,” he smiled in a teasing way. “As long as you come along after your schoolwork.”

The waitress came by and refilled drinks, making sure they had enough napkins and promising that the rest of the food was ready to bring out.

“I’m glad this town is really open about its coven and the witches. There are some places that are absolutely separated or some people refuse to acknowledge each other. It’s pretty silly, really.”

Re: those who don't believe in magic will never find it

Posted: Mon Jan 15, 2018 6:03 pm

by Simply

Selene’s blue eyes flickered up to watch him put the fry into his mouth and nodded, approvingly. While Em continued to keep her gaze on their new companion, the witch cast a side eye at her best friend. A smirk played her lips before she rolled her eyes and attention shifted back to her cheese fries. She devoured them. Yet, at the mention of learning a thing or two from her coven, Selene tried not to choke on the mouthful of cheese-coated fries she had been chewing on.

She listened to him continue on and didn’t say anything right away. Other covens might be fairly accepting of his Traveler lifestyle but being the daughter of the leader came with a little bit more knowledge that Emily was privy too. The schoolteacher may be her best friend but that didn’t mean Selena could let her in on the inner workings. Uncomfortable with where the conversation was going, she chewed on her lip but fortunately the little flirt he threw at Emily caught her attention and set her at ease.

Emily smiled and took a long sip of her drink before excusing herself to the restroom again, no doubt to freshen up her lipstick. She has been the one to teach Selena the essence of flirting, which was another thing that did not come naturally to the witch. That gave Selena a moment of opportunity to speak with Owen privately. “Hey, not to burst any bubbles, but my coven isn’t too eager on drifters.” She said, trying not to be too off-putting but convey as much as she could without outright calling him and his own coven scoundrels for not setting down roots. “We may share with the local mortals but we don’t really let them in on all of the coven’s decisions. So about that silly thing…yeah, we probably fall a bit into that a bit.

Taking a sip of her drink, Selene shrugged her shoulders. “So you’ll be allowed to come to our coven meetings, most likely, but sitting in on séances and classes,” she shook her head back and forth. “But I could show you a bit around the shop, if you want. My dad is headed two towns over for a conference for a few days so he won’t be around to frown disappovin’ly at me showin’ you around.” She saw Emily exit the bathroom and head towards them, with a fresh light smear of lipstick across her lips. “That way, you can also take Em out.” She leaned back into the chair, crossing her arms. The smirk played her lips as Emily remained staining, oblivious to her friend’s prod at their new companion.

The food arrived just as Emily sat down in her seat. They small talked a bit about the town and Emily made quite the subtle displays of flirting that Owen obviously picked up on. Feeling quite comfortable as the third wheel, she finished off her food and just leaned back to participate a little in the conversation. However, it started to become apparent that maybe her presence wasn’t as necessary as it was before. She had made the introduction and she was no longer needed.

“I’m gunna take my leave. I gotta run to my dad’s before he heads out tomorrow mornin’. Em can give you my number, Owen, and you can stop by the shop tomorrow and I can help you with that list of stuff you had mentioned.” Selene slipped out and squeezed Em’s fingertips as she did. She walked back towards the shop. When she grabbed a few things from her dad’s house, she did not mention the new witch arrival that had made his entrance today. She felt a little awkward keeping it from him but she didn’t know how receptive he would be to an outsider. She didn’t bother to check to see if there was anyone else with Emily at the house. She went straight to her room and finishing reading the book she had picked up a few days ago.

The next morning, Selene showered and braided her hair back from her face. She descended the stairs to the kitchen and started to make herself a cup of coffee, seeing movement out of the corner of her eye at the kitchen island. “Mornin’ Em, how did it go with-,” she turned and saw someone that was completely not her roommate. “Holy shit, Owen. Couldn’t have announced yourself when I came in?” She released another expletive and leaned against the counter with her mug in one hand and the other against her chest, feeling the rapid pounding of her heart. Once the adrenaline started to run out of her system, she smirked at him. “Sooooo…..last night went well I see.”

Re: I am Witch

Posted: Wed May 23, 2012 12:07 am

by Astrophysicist

Family histories are always the most interesting when one discovers a crazy Uncle or a wealthy Aunt. Being related to someone who signed the American Declaration of Independence or sailed under the flag of a Spanish pirate was an exciting find, to say the least. Searching through the dusty attic while the parents are on vacation, only to unearth some dark family secret that had been lurking in that dusty old trunk for decades was entrainment at its best. However, such harmless findings are nothing like what a young woman was to find in her grandfather’s basement...

“Dad! But granddaddy’s house is so terribly...terribly monotonous.” Voiced a girl of sixteen, using one of the vocabulary words that her father had forced her to learn in preparation for the dreaded SAT. With a memory like a sponge, the young woman who stood before an older man was considered the brain child of the Nurse family. Photographic memory is what the scientific community had decided to call the particularly bright child’s ability.

“Then you should learn to mind your mother and she wouldn’t send you away.” Daniel Nurse replied to his daughter, who was avidly protesting the thought of spending the summer at her grandfather’s home on the outskirts of Boston. However, it was clear that the girl’s father was firm in his resolve to send her away. “You are well aware of your mother’s temperament, yet you continue to be difficult. Becky…” He murmured, ruffling the girl’s hair. A heavy sigh emitted itself from the lips of the one called Becky as she turned and headed up the stairs, refusing to continue the conversation that would no doubt turn into a lecture.

“Thomas and Jody never had to do this! It’s unwarranted. Granddaddy’s decrepit and deaf and…nearly unbearable!” Rebecca cried as she climbed the stairs, her back to her ragged father. Her speech was riddled with the vocabulary that he father insisted that she include in his presence. However, her demeanor expressed the defeat that she had already accepted.

“Becky. It’s final, stop complaining. Now where is your suitcase? We don’t want to be late for your plane.”

“My mother dearest might not want me to be late for the wicked summer she’s planned for me, but I could care less." She said, under her breath so her father wouldn't point out the disrespect hidden in her words. “I don’t remember where I put that cursed suitcase.” The lie was well rehearsed, as she had attempted to do everything in her power to avoid making the flight to Boston and the unexciting summer that was awaiting her there.

“Don’t you lie to me, Rebecca Lynn Nurse! You know exactly where it is.” This was followed by a soft growl of protest. Sometimes having a photographic memory was more of a burden than a gift, the young woman concluded as she sought the suitcase that she had hidden in her brother’s closet. He was away at wrestling camp and Rebecca had taken the liberty of using his room to suit her needs.

Rebecca Nurse was quite the astute young woman. She spoke her mind with no thought as to what the reprimand would be, which often landed her in the doghouse with her parents and once or twice with the authorities. A peculiar spirit lived within the daughter of a long line of Americans. It rivaled the incredible nature of one Anne Hutchinson, who sought to defy authority and rule. Wild and charismatic, the young Rebecca Nurse was always finding some new way to entertain herself.

Her mother was the one who was most baffled by the girl’s character. Ever since Rebecca was a child, a certain air surrounded her that no other baby possessed. She never cried when she fell down, only rose more determined to make her little legs walk. Action was always taken over mere words. Lies were rarely uttered from her lips…ones that mattered at least. If a scraped knee or broken leg had ever plagued Rebecca Lynn, no one knew of it. The young woman had seldom fallen ill to the flu and wasn’t as susceptible as her siblings. Rebecca’s nature was one that so petrified her mother, that the woman had come to avoid her daughter.

On the other hand, Daniel Nurse had found a loyal friend and a favorite in his youngest of three. It was so strong that he had argued with his wife for two hours the previous week against the request that Rebecca be sent away. However, her mother’s resolve was deep-seated and wouldn’t accept a refusal. Thus, Rebecca Lynn found herself on a plane to Boston, Massachusetts seated between a robust, bald man and a stinky, little, sticky-fingered child. Behind her a baby screamed the entire fight, while the parents argued about why the child was upset. Oh dear God in heaven.

The plane ride went well enough, considered she had to constantly deny the kid the right to cut her hair off. Landing was most unfortunate, as Rebecca had always been fond of the sky and anything that allowed her to have freedom from her parents…though being sent under the rigid eye of her grandfather was hardly the liberty she had thought she deserved.

Dark eyes fell on an elderly man after Rebecca Nurse had retrieved her two suitcases from the belt. They stared at each other for a long time before she moved over and offered him a feeble smile. The two were hardly best friends, like other grandparents were with their children’s children. Rebecca saw him as an overbearing cryptic psycho and Fredrick Nurse saw his granddaughter as a sneaky, conniving child who sought only to bring her mother pain.

“Hello, Rebecca Lynn.” Why did he insist upon the middle name? For goodness’ sakes, he was already starting to annoy her and it was only the first five minutes. “I see that you have packed your entire house.” He commented, reaching to take the duffle bag that rested on top of the hefty suitcase.

“I didn’t want to make it too easy for you, Granddaddy.” Rebecca replied, still staring at him. Making sure her purse was secured on her arm, she pulled the suitcase as her forefather moved onward without another word to his granddaughter.

The ride to his farm was uncomfortable to say the least. The young rebel was subjected to classical music and the shrill cry of brakes that longed to be changed. Not another word was uttered by Fredrick Nurse while he drove from Boston’s main airport. Thirty minutes passed as he weaved through the traffic of the capital of Massachusetts. Cars became even more scarce as they traveled through the country towards his home.

The arrival was no nosier as the bags were removed from the trunk and carried to the bedroom where she was to stay. The elderly man dropped the duffle bag on the floor of a large white-washed room. He slipped by her, leaving her standing in the doorway, cursing him with every word that she had come across in her sixteen years of existence. In silence, Rebecca unpacked her items and placed them in the closet and two dressers that were contained in the room.

The farm was large, as Rebecca had come to realize her first few days of the summer with her grandfather. Men and women worked around the farm, hired with the money her grandfather had earned by being one of the most brilliant doctor’s in Massachusetts. She spoke with them on occasion, but came to understand that the older ones only wished to work, not socialize with a noisy little brat.

On one particular Monday, Rebecca couldn’t find the old man to ask if she could go into Boston for the day. Angry with his frequent disappearances, she sought him throughout the residence, finally deciding that he must be hiding in the basement. When she opened the door it was dark, but she spotted a light in the far corner. There the old geezer was. Sighing, she sought a light switch on the side of the wall and found the basement harbored no electricity. Dammit.

Holding tightly onto the railing of the steep steps, Rebecca descended in search of her elusive grandfather. “Granddaddy?” She asked, gritting her teeth and trying to ignore the musky smell that filled her nostrils as her feel landed on the hard floor of the basement. However, the young girl was quickly distracted by the numerous items that occupied the space of the cellar. Deep eyes fell on everything from muskets of the Civil War to the records of the fifties and sixties.

Curiosity consumed her as she weaved her way through trunks and boxes after finding a flashlight near a box of old rattles and baby crib. Rebecca’s gaze soon fell upon a particularly old trunk and she felt compelled. As though she was drawn by some invisible force, Miss Nurse knelt before the wooden container and frowned at the old metal lock. Damn her grandfather’s desire to keep everyone out of everything.

With an anger that consumed her, Rebecca let her fist fall on the lid of the trunk. Clang, Ka-thunk! The noise filled her ears as she furrowed her brow, running her hands along the side of the box. As if by some extreme stroke of luck, the hinges that held the lid on were broken. Smirking, as though she had beaten her captor (as she came to refer to him) as his own game, Rebecca removed the lid and set it aside, careful to avoid making too much noise.

Inside were old pieces of parchment that were slowly decaying and paperbound books that looked as though they had been written in the stone age. With a renewed spark of interest, the young woman began to rummage through the contents of the wooden container. The papers on the top were maps and deeds, concerning a certain lot of land in old Salem. The dates were difficult on some, but most dated back the before the American Revolution.

Amber eyes grew wide as she surveyed the first papers quickly and set them aside. The property rights and other things hardy attracted her attention. Nearly to the point of giving up on the old box, Rebecca stumbled upon an amazing find. Her fingers brushed the leather binding of a thick book. Eyebrows furrowed as she withdrew it from the trunk and opened its cover. Her jaw nearly dropped as her eyes absorbed the words on the cover. The name Rebecca was written in elegant hand across the blank front page. With a soft gasp, she delicately turned the page that had been untouched in centuries.

The next piece held the date of March 1692 and Rebecca soon realized it was a diary. She smiled slightly, before flipping through the rest of the journal before a page seemed to attract her attention as though someone else had sought to make it known to her. It was in a more formal script than the rest had been. Slowly, she began to read.

I am one, Rebecca Nurse, and am accused of being a witch. The Circle has sought to rid the town of the ones who prosper more than they in Salem. Ann Putnam and Mercy Lewis and Abigail Williams are the leaders of The Circle. They are young and witless children, but they accuse me as they do the more innocent beings of Salem. However, their accusations couldn’t be more nearer to the truth. I am one, Rebecca Nurse, and I practice witchcraft. I am Wicken. I am Witch.

Rebecca nearly dropped the book. Was this her foremother, her namesake? She shook her head and set the journal aside, certain that all contained was pure lunacy. However, she was compelled to searched further into the trunk but found it was now empty. A frown crept across her lips before she leaned back to examine the trunk. Surely such a large trunk was not so shallow. No, there had to be more.

Slender hands ran across the smooth wooden surface before she found a small piece of fabric and pulled. The thin piece of oak was removed to reveal small vials and books and pieces of stray parchment. It was amazing. Rebecca picked up each vial and read the label that graced each one. Herbs, plants, powders were in the first few before the more interesting ones began to arise. Eyes, blood, animal pieces, those were the ones that Rebecca almost dropped to the ground. Was this really…no, of course not.

Finally, she removed the leather bound books and flipped through them. Potions, instructions for flight and terrors and curses. Her hands trembled as she set them aside with the first journal she had found. However, the young woman was unable to continue.

“REBECCA LYNN!” Despite his old age, Fredrick Nurse’s voice boomed through the entire house. Terrified of what she had found and being found, Rebecca hurriedly returned the items into the hidden compartment and then the others after she laid the board back down. She kept the journal, though, tucking it into her pants and pulling her hoodie over the bulge.

Scrambling with unrest, she ran to the stairs and took them three at time before she burst out of the basement door and right into her grandfather. Her eyes widened as though she had just been caught smoking weed or returning home drunk from a party. The look in his was far different. It contained a shock and then and anger.

“What were you doing down there?” It was a cold tone that filled his voice.

“Looking for you.” She answered, unable to lie when it came to important questions. This was obviously important.

“Did you touch anything?”

Rebecca swallowed. The urge to tell the truth filled her and she bit her lip. As she finally opened it to tell him a man rushed into the room, obviously one of the help.

“My apologies, Dr. Nurse, but the stallion is going mad. He’s already taken out Henry. We need your help.” He exhaled, sweaty from his run from the stable yard.

The old man turned from his granddaughter to the help and frowned. He obviously wished to continue the interrogation of his charge but the call for aid appeared to present a stronger call. “Show me.” He murmured and Rebecca was unable to hide a sigh of relief.

As her grandfather departed, so did the young woman, heading out the back entrance. Her feet carried her up the steep hill behind the main house and towards a place of peace she had found her second day here. A large elm resided near to the spot where the sheep were taken to graze. She settled herself down, breathing heavily and removed the journal.

She placed it in her lap, staring at it as though it contained the words of the Devil; his own will and testament. Tawny pools examined the plain black leather cover before she flipped it open, back to late May of 1962. With slow movements, Rebecca read the pages over and over, absorbing the information.

The Circle would be cursed by the younger Wicken, had I not convinced them otherwise. Sarah has also been accused, but after examination, she had been found innocent. It fills my heart to know this. I have no hope of escape. She will lead the Coven. It is hard to say if we shall be able to save the innocents from the noose, but we cannot expose the Coven—thus I will stand trial with the accused and speak nothing of the our secrets. I record these proceedings now so that my posterity will know of my gifts, my wisdom and the Craft. I am scared, to say the least, but they will not fail me. In the future, witches shall be accepted. I know it. I have-

A young man’s voice disturbed her reading. “What are you doing outside all up here by yourself, kid?”



Summer romances begin for all kinds of reasons, but when all is said and done, they have one thing in common. They're shooting stars, a spectacular moment of light in the heavens, fleeting glimpse of eternity, and in a flash they're gone.

Re: I am Witch

Posted: Wed May 23, 2012 12:09 am

by Astrophysicist

”By the pricking of our thumbs, something wicked this way comes.”

He awoke with a start, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. His chest heaved like a man that had just run a mile in a full sprint, and his brow was coated in a thin film of cold sweat. The digital clock cast an eerie red aura of light about the bedside table, the blocky digits displaying an emotionless 5:14AM. In one minute, the ear-splitting cry of his alarm would pierce the world’s current peaceful silence.

Shit, he thought, panting. He threw back his blankets and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet greeting his bedroom’s cold oak floor. He wrung his trembling hands together before leaning forward, switching off his alarm before it began its daily shriek.

The voice still echoed in his ears, the soft, eerily silken female murmur still as loud and vivid as it had been in the dream. ”By the pricking of our thumbs, something wicked this way comes.” She’d spoken it matter-of-factly, as though her meaning was the most obvious thing in the world. Her sweet, girlish features had been twisted by a malicious smirk, her intelligent honey eyes almost feverish in their bright ferocity. Fiendish laughter had sparkled in her gaze, lighting up her sun-kissed face with an amusement he could not grasp. He’d studied her for some time before she’d spoken, locking eyes with the young woman and silently pressing for answers to questions he could no longer recall. The matter, though it had been lost to him in the transition from sleep to consciousness, had meant life or death…but had it been for him or for another? He’d soon lost himself in her stare, drowning in those deep amber pools of life and power, of light and brilliance, of angels, but also of demons and devils…

He shook his head vigorously, forcing himself to banish the memory as he stood and made his way to the bathroom, swiftly closing the door and sliding over the old-fashioned lock. He turned the circular light switch clockwise, adjusting the dimmer just bright enough to illuminate his face in the mirror. The image of the woman still haunted him, and he shivered as he studied himself. He’d been close enough to reach out and touch her; he’d been close enough to stop her.

But he had not.

Half curiously, half accusingly, he stared at his reflection, probing the neutral expression that gazed back at him for some kind of answer. It wasn’t difficult to recall the horror he’d felt upon learning of the woman’s intentions. What act of terror had he failed to prevent? He knew as well as any other practicing witch that dreams were highly symbolic, and overlooking the latent content was about as safe as throwing gasoline on a fire. It hadn’t been an ordinary dream; it wasn’t even an ordinary nightmare. The visuals had had substance, an unnervingly tangible quality his fingertips could still taste as he recovered from the shock of it. He’d dreamt in flesh and blood, not pictures and visions. Nothing about it felt like the product of an idle, overeager imagination during his slumber. He felt as though he’d witnessed something, something momentous, and now had the weight of the memory to carry on his shoulders.

Not sure whether he should furrow his brow with concern or laugh aloud at his dramatic reaction, he simply sighed, turning on the faucet and washing his face with handfuls of cool water. He had a full day ahead of him to ponder and speculate about the demonic girl that quoted Shakespeare in his dreams. The early mornings were his to relax; he relished the quiet birth of a new day, rising at daybreak’s twilight and heading out to the countryside to work. The day ahead of him would be blissfully long.

He dressed quickly and headed downstairs, not bothering with breakfast. He left a quick note for his mother, the scratching of his pencil on the paper sounding strangely ominous in the silent kitchen. Mom, he wrote sloppily, I’ll be back around six tonight. Don’t wait on me for dinner. --Hawk. He slid the paper to the center of the kitchen table where she couldn’t miss it.

Tugging open the back door and closing it carefully behind him, Oliver James Callahan--known to all but a select few by his nickname Hawk--made his way across their small backyard and to the garage. The garage was good-sized, housing the family minivan and his father’s rusted-but-faithful old Ford in addition to his older brother’s workshop, and sat next to a short gravel alley that lead to the side street. They lived on the very edge of town, one of the oldest districts in the area. Sharply peaked roofs and spires shared air space with the canopies of thick oaks and maples and hickories. .Majestic eighteenth and nineteenth century homes lined each side of the narrow streets, each one mansionlike and beautiful on their immaculate green lawns. But though he could appreciate the history and architecture like any other, it was not closed-in neighborhoods that he loved.

Hawk wheeled out his motorcycle and mounted, sliding his silver helmet on over his ears. Then, jumping and letting his weight come down on the starter pedal, he kicked the engine to life and took off down the makeshift driveway to the street, disappearing in a cloud of dust as he departed.

.+.+.+.+.

“You’re earlier than usual, Oliver James.”

The gruff voice startled him as he took off his helmet and dusted off the thighs of his ragged work jeans. Hawk recognized it immediately: only Harper Johnson insisted on calling him by both his first and middle names when he went by neither. “G’morning to you too, Harper,” he said with a smile, setting his helmet on his seat and turning to face the elder stable hand.

“Still haven’t killed yourself on that thing, I see,” observed Harper. His sharp blue eyes, though sunken in with age, still managed to sparkle with mischief. He nodded to the motorcycle, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned against the side of the tool shed.

“Don’t sound so disappointed.”

Harper turned to walk with him to the stable, trailing one finger childishly along the vertical siding of the back barn. The resulting sound was hollow and uneven, reminding Hawk vaguely of popcorn in a microwave. “The new stallion’s antsy today,” the older gentleman said. “I think we’re-”

“Hey, Hawk!” Henry came around the corner, falling in stride with them. His height was impressive; he towered above them, his presence just as commanding as it was conspicuous. “Think you could help out with the stallion today?”

“I was just going to ask him that,” Harper said with a false scowl.

Hawk grinned. “Sorry, guys, I’m needed elsewhere today. I promised Mary I’d help her out. I think you can handle everything, guys, you’ve been around horses since they were introduced in America.”

“Elsewhere? What kind of teenager nowadays says that?” asked Henry, wrinkling his small nose. He looked to Harper as if for guidance, pointedly ignoring the young man’s jest about their age.

Harper just rolled his eyes. “He must be smarter than he looks. Eh?”

Hawk laughed warmly. Where most would complain about the ridiculously early waking time and the sometimes back-breaking work of a not-so-pleasant-smelling farm, it was the only lifestyle he’d ever known. He’d been thirteen years old when his family sold their farm and moved to the suburbs, and he couldn’t have been any happier when he found out Dr. Fredrick Nurse needed someone to help in his stables. Of course, back then, he hadn’t been aware of the man’s stunning reputation as a doctor--or as a witch.

“He’s looking for older folks, kid,” a five-years-younger Harper had informed him, shaking his head apologetically. “Come back in a few years. Then he’ll do business with you.” But Harper had been quite mistaken--Mr. Nurse had known something the others didn’t. Whether he’d recognized the old Callahan surname from Salem history books or simply knew by instinct, he’d sensed a profound potential within the young Oliver James that others had either overlooked or simply could not detect. Hawk’s mother had introduced him to family witchcraft at a young age, so he was not startled when Mr. Nurse questioned him about it. It came as naturally to him as sleeping or breathing; he’d had no reason to shy away from the truth. He practically burst with a child’s innocent pride when Mr. Nurse’s interrogation went from questions regarding his abilities to questions regarding his talents.

“I’m good with animals!” Hawk had delightedly exclaimed, and that had sealed the deal. Even now, at eighteen, almost nineteen years of age, a high school graduate and a soon-to-be college freshman, he was still having the time of his life on the Nurse farm like the little boy he once was. In the five years he’d spent there, he’d built his own solid reputation amongst the other workers both in the stables and out. It was Hawk that Henry, Harper, and the others called for when there was trouble with one of the horses. It was Hawk the gardeners wanted when the rabbits refused to stop devouring their flowers. It was Hawk the planters asked advice from when gophers raided their fields. Nothing short of a celebrity, he thought with amusement, his hazel eyes brightening with mischief. That’s what Victor, one of the veterinarians, had called him one day. “Wanted to meet you for myself,” he’d told him with a laugh. “You’re the resident celebrity, people tell me.”

“See you after lunch, guys,” Hawk called, breaking away from his two comrades and heading to the north side of the farm. “Don’t let the stallion kick you on your way out!”

.+.+.+.+.

He’d caught only a glimpse of her as he crossed the grassy threshold of the grazing field and headed toward the house, and though he’d never actually seen her before in his life, he’d known exactly who he was the moment he laid eyes on her. With her fair hair and painfully graceful way of simply existing, he could have mistaken her identity only if he’d been blindfolded.

There was no doubt in his mind that this was the young woman from his dream.

Having pushed the matter from his mind much earlier that day, Hawk hadn’t had a chance to revisit it. Mary had kept him hopelessly occupied, and then there was the matter of the stallion and Henry’s resulting injuries to top everything off...he hadn’t had the chance to process much more than the work at hand. And here she was now, the girl he thought he’d conjured purely from his imagination, right in front of him, living and breathing. Had he not recalled his feelings of intense dislike he’d harbored about her in his subconscious, he would have laughed aloud.

Nearly as disconcerted as he was curious, he watched her for several seconds before he dared to venture closer. Engrossed in a faded book with her back against the rough bark of the elm tree that towered above the Nurse farm, she was the picture of teenage innocence, the gentle country breeze tossing her hair about her head. “Well,” he finally said, not unkindly, making his presence known with a purposeful scuff of his boot on a patch of dry earth. A small cloud of dust rose to the air and was dissolved by the wind’s subtle breath, disappearing nearly as quickly as it had sprung to visibility. “What are you doing outside all up here by yourself, kid?”

And then, almost accusingly, he added, “You’re not reading Shakespeare, are you?”




o.o.c. :: Huzzah! I've finally posted! <3 Thanks for your patience, m'dear. I thought maybe if we needed it we could incorporate Hawk's dream into some sort of plot, but if not, then it's a good reason for him to dislike her at first. (:

Re: I am Witch

Posted: Wed May 23, 2012 12:12 am

by Astrophysicist

Rebecca had crossed the lawn with the sole intention of escaping from her grandfather and his uncanny way of knowing exactly what she was doing and where she was. However, she had realized that he didn’t like venturing too far from his employees and animals. Fredrick Nurse was a hard man to please and Rebecca had realized that it was even harder for her to please him. The man seemed to have taken his daughter-in-laws opinion of his granddaughter which seemed to make her even more miserable than before.

Fredrick Nurse had turned incredibly sour after the death of his wife many year ago, before Rebecca had even been born. She was born on the day that her grandmother had died and so perhaps that is what had caused her grandfather to become so bitter towards her, as though it was somehow her fault that her grandmother had passed away so suddenly.

So the youngest Nurse had to find ways to amuse herself since the help didn’t seem too keen on being her friend and her grandfather only saw her as a worker her didn’t have to pay. Eventually, after the two weeks she had already spent here, she realized that during the summer the sheep were kept on the lowlands and her grandfather wouldn’t look for her among the hills. It was too much trouble for the old man to bother with her when there were horses kicking people in the head. She’d have to find out who was hurt and perhaps she would make him brownies or…something.

Settling down with that intriguing book that simply had to be fiction, Rebecca let her eyes move over the words and flipped through the pages until a rather unwelcome voice interrupted her thoughts. Frowning, she turned her head upward and shaded her amber eyes with her hands. The frown deepened when she noticed who it was. He was the farm boy that all of the others spoke about when something was wrong with the animals.

Studying his face before even bothering to understand what he said, she took in that he was subtly attractive but something on his face made the frown disappear and a confused look pass over her face. He had called her ‘kid.’ Did she look like a child? She wasn’t much younger than he was, two or three years at the most. The frown returned as she understood his words and she licked her lips, snapping the book shut to hide it from his prying little eyes.

She grasped the book in her hands and hoisted herself up from the position she was in beneath the elm tree and found that he was still a good deal taller than she was. Rebecca took an instant dislike to this man who referred to her as a child who was a mere nine or ten years old. Couldn’t he tell that she was sixteen going on seventeen and hardly in the mood for interruptions. But she couldn’t interpret that look her had on his face, a mixture of awe and distain as though she had done something wrong to him when he was the one that interrupted her reading.

“I think it was obvious that I was reading.” She snapped, narrowing her dark eyes at him before making sure the book was securely shut in her hand, so that he couldn’t let his eyes examine it too closely. Shakespeare? She didn’t particularly like the old English guy and didn’t see the need to read him outside of school but this man had asked and she wasn’t in the mood for answering nicely since he had discovered her hiding spot and would likely tell her grandfather about it. “And no. Not Shakespeare.”

Licking her lips again, she cocked her head slightly, letting her long blonde hair whip behind her for a minute. “And what are you doing up here, farm boy? Aren’t you supposed to be working?!” Rebecca asked, leaning back against the elm, not comfortable with the boy’s gaze on her so intently.

ooc: Short. >.<‘ They’ll get better. ^^ Hope you like it.

Re: I am Witch

Posted: Wed May 23, 2012 12:12 am

by Astrophysicist

He didn’t know whether to laugh or frown, and the emotional conflict showed on his face in a bizarre expression trapped somewhere between a smirk and a grimace.

“‘Farm boy’?” he repeated skeptically, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. Though she was giving him no specific orders, her speech was demanding, just as unwelcoming as it was defensive. His mirth inspired his lips to adopt a lopsided smile, and he shook his head slowly back and forth with something akin to relief. Her voice was nothing like the hypnotic purr of the young woman in his dream, and he was more than grateful for that.

As she stood, his gaze flicked from her face to her toes and then back to her face again, searching to meet her honey-colored gaze. The grazing fields and the hills were inarguably the most peaceful places on the Nurse property, and it wasn’t difficult to see why. The breeze tossed the elm’s leafy branches lazily, patches of sunlight filtering through its broad canopy to dance silently upon the grass. There was something unmistakably desolate about the hill the two of them currently stood on, but the sense of isolation was tranquilly wistful rather than eerie or blatantly lonely. It wasn’t difficult to make out why Rebecca Nurse--the name suddenly returned to him, for surely this was Fredrick’s granddaughter, the one he’d mentioned a few weeks ago--had chosen this place to escape to.

He didn’t often speak to Fredrick Nurse, but their lack of interaction was not the product of dislike or animosity. The man kept mostly to himself. The older farm hands reported that it was only after the death of his beloved wife that he turned bitter and distant, like he’d never quite had the strength to pull himself out of his grief. But he was mysterious by nature, it seemed. Even businesslike conversations regarding the farm were cryptic, and though they dealt with very concrete and specific matters, they were rarely straightforward. It was something Hawk--and, of course, the rest of the workers--had simply grown to accept and dismiss, learning with time and experience to decipher what the man really wanted done. He couldn’t help but notice that his employer and his employer’s granddaughter shared the very same trait.

She, of course, was not quite so enigmatic. “It’d be easier just to tell me to go away, you know,” he commented neutrally, lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug.

He took another few steps forward, making smaller the gap between them. Feeling uneasy, watched her carefully as he passed her, trying to assess the situation logically. The woman in his dream had not actually done anything, had she? And how likely was it that Fredrick’s granddaughter was plotting anything sinister? There is no need, his mother always said to him, to make sunny and innocent mortal matters cloudy with magic. In other words, there was no reason for him to assume anything was out of the ordinary until, say, she sprouted gargoyle wings and mauled him with her claws. But though he knew he’d have perished right then and there for disturbing her if looks had the ability to kill, the chances of her literally ripping him apart with demon talons were quite slim. He suppressed a chuckle at the image the thought conjured in his mind, suddenly much more at ease. Once he’d made it a few steps down the hill toward the house, he turned around.

“I think a better question is what you are doing up here,” he replied curtly, regarding her with unmasked suspicion. “I’ve been up working”--he stressed the word and raised his eyebrows--“since five thirty this morning.” He paused, pointedly stealing a glance at her book and gesturing to the filthy state of his ragged clothing. “What have you done all day, city girl?” Though he hadn’t intended anything of the sort, he found himself growing irritated, and it came through in his petulant tone. “Did it ever cross your mind to help out a bit yourself?”

Re: I am Witch

Posted: Wed May 23, 2012 12:13 am

by Astrophysicist

Those green eyes dancing amused on his face made her scowl slightly. Why did he find the fact that he was a farm boy so amusing? Who wanted to do that kind of work when they could live in the town without bothering on her grandfather’s farm. If she had been him, she would have stayed as far away from her cursed grandfather as she could get. He disliked her quick tongue and matter-of-fact way of speaking since she was usually right when she told him things. After all, with a photographic memory, she usually picked up on thing faster than the old man.

Now as she looked at him with his amusing eyes that ran over her body, Rebecca found that she liked his tone and him, to be honest, a little bit less than she already did. Licking her lips, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, placing one hand on her hip as looking at him as to ask him what he was looking at exactly. This farm boy might have been easy on the eyes but she certainly didn’t like his assuming way of talking down to her.

It would have been easier if you had never talked to me. She thought, though kept it to herself so that he would just continue on his merry little farm boy way and leave her and the book alone. Licking her lips, she slipped her ring finger between two of the pages, wishing that she could continue reading in such a peaceful spot without any further interruptions. After all, she had come out here to get away from things and her grandfather was not the only thing she was getting away from. The constant silence around the house was unnerving but out here the silence was peaceful because it wasn’t really silence. The birds were bickering in the background and the breeze would make a beautiful whistle as it slipped past her head and further away from her into the fading day.

The farm boy stopped and she nearly growled her discontent with his sudden desire to continue speaking to her. Did he not understand that she wanted to be left alone. Ugh! However, taking a quick glance at the sun as it began it’s slow descent down the other side of the hill, Rebecca knew that she would have to start making dinner or her grandfather would find more things for her to do during the day and she’d never figure out if this insane little book was for real. Witches? Circles? Covenants?! Licking her lips, she headed after him slowly, keeping a comfortable distance between them.

Then he spoke and she rolled her eyes. Why couldn’t he just continue on with his duties and leave her alone? None of the other hands seemed interested in her. What made him so eager to speak to her in such a demeaning way? “I told you what I was doing. I was reading.” She frowned. “I know you might not be familiar with what most people call books but we read them. It’s quite common in more…advanced places.” She snapped, not enjoying his tone at all. Those honey eyes flashed with a fire and she glared at him.

“I’ve been down to your precious stable already and no one seemed interested in showing me anything.” She added, tossing her head a bit and the wind caught her hair. She took another few steps down the hill. “All you are too caught up in everything to bother to show me what to do.” And they’d only have to show Rebecca once so long as she kept her eyes on their hands. After all, she could easily replay the memory in her head and perform it exactly as they had. But no one was interested in her. Not even her grandfather, the bitter old man.

Re: I am Witch

Posted: Wed May 23, 2012 12:13 am

by Astrophysicist

Well, he thought, still mildly amused beneath his outward aggravation, we’re off to a great start.

Had he known her thoughts, he would have informed her that asking questions only yielded answers. If she didn’t want him to speak to her, why was she speaking to him? She was playing a losing hand in the high-stakes game of social interaction, and he could only thank his lucky stars that this was their first encounter in two weeks. That meant it was pretty unlikely that their paths would cross on a regular basis. Of course, had they met before, it would have been under different circumstances. Perhaps then, after the initial introduction, they would have at least acknowledged each other with more than frowns and furrowed brows. But what happened had happened, and there was nothing either of them could do about it now.

Hawk was very aware of her following him, the sound of her footsteps on the hillside whispering in distinct rhythmic syllables. His throat tightened with instinctive alarm, the muscles in his neck tensing at the thought of the dream-Rebecca Nurse trailing too closely behind. It was a silly reaction, and he knew it, but after the tough day he’d had, he felt he had a right to be a little jumpy. He probably should have been angrier with her and her smart remarks than he actually was, but he was tired, and he had more important things to worry about than a silly little teenaged girl’s stereotyping. Henry, for instance. The stallion had gone wild that afternoon, throwing an uncontrollable kicking rampage outside the stable. His friend’s skull was very possibly fractured from a back hoof’s swift blow.

A pang of guilt raced through his nerves, and he sighed quietly. He knew it wasn’t really his fault, but he felt terrible all the same. It was an accident, and accidents were simply inevitable; not even the most cautious of people could safely call themselves immune from them on a farm the size of Dr. Nurse’s. Since Hawk had been on the far end of the property, he hadn’t received word of the incident in time to be of any use. Harper had rushed in to the house and alerted Fredrick, dialing 911 on his cell phone as the two of them sprinted back to the stables. By the time the ambulance arrived, Hawk had been successfully summoned, and he got there in time to watch Henry disappear on a stretcher behind two heavy metal doors. Kicking up dust in their wake, the noisy emergency vehicles sped off down the narrow gravel road, spooking both the stable hands and the horses with the close grumble of their engines.

Hoping to reassure himself in the process, he remained where he was, doing his best to calm the younger horses that had taken fright. When he'd successfully comforted the animals and unsuccessfully comforted himself, he’d made his way to the hills, hoping to walk off his worries with a good dose of cheery summer sun. And though he’d been diverted for a handful of minutes with Fredrick's granddaughter, his agitation arose again, and this time it had nothing to do with his stupid dream.

“Right. Reading. So you said.” He frowned, refusing to respond to her ignominious comment about his intelligence. All his mirth had dissolved away with his renewed concerns for Henry. “All day, huh? That must be tough. Neck stiff at all? Eyes tired?” He was speaking to her now only because he saw it annoyed her. He knew it was ridiculous and childish; he was searching for ways to provoke her so he could fire right back with his own spiel of less-than-friendly phrases. He reached the side door and paused with weary conviction.

He didn’t allow his exhaustion to stop him from turning around just once more. “Look, city girl,” he said crisply, a strange calm dominating his tone. “Sometimes you have to be hospitable to get hospitality in return. Did you even ask to help out, or did you just wander around and expect everyone to rush to fulfill your every whim? I don’t know where you come from, kid, or who you think you are, but one of these days you’re going to have to accept that you’re not there anymore.” He narrowed his eyes. “So take your advanced reading material and go hide with it somewhere in the house. Stay out of the way. Maybe some of my stupidity has already rubbed off on you. I’d hate to jeopardize your intelligence any more than I already have.” He nodded once dismissively. “Goodbye, your highness.”

With that, he stepped inside to the kitchen, closing the door behind him soundlessly. He sighed deeply, closing his eyes for a brief second. He still had more work to do in the stables, but he had to eat first, and maybe give Harper a call to see how Henry was doing...

by Simply

August 1682
The Meeting was tonight and it would not be prudent to be late to her Initiation. Technically, Margaret had been inducted into the witches’ circle when she was but fourteen, right after the first blossoming of her womanhood. That, however, was the local chapter only. This was Edinburgh chapter and nearly a decade after her powers had first manifested in extraordinary ways. Her mother had been a casting witch from the isles off of the African continent and brought to Scotland to be a servant in a rich man’s court. She taught Margaret what little she could before she died of the fever in 1676 – both magically and domestically.

Dark eyes flickered upwards to the trees that lined the outskirts of the large Scottish city to one side. She turned, daring a glance back only once to see the flickering lights of the candles in the windows. A flicker of fear arose in her chest, the anxiety real in the flutters of each beat of her heart. She inhaled, steading herself. This was what she had longed for from the moment that her mistress had brought her to the city. The invitation had been long in the making but it was welcome nonetheless. She was desired. They wanted her to be a part of their coven, their circle.

Meeting. After sundown. One hundred paces into the tree line. It was all the second message had said but she had clutched the small paper to her chest with a inhaled of excitement. Margaret considered sending out a search spell to make sure that she was not being followed and that nothing threatening awaited her – but that was nonsense. All of the witches in the coven would have placed barrier protection spells. She shook her head at how silly she was being. This was an honor. It would show her distrust and anger the Elders.

In her head she counted the paces, slowly as her body ached to run towards something she had craved since she was a child at her mother’s knee. 98, 99, 100… The moment she placed her foot delicately down on the ground she inhaled, just in time to have a blade thrust against her throat. She tensed immediately.

“Don’t move, bandraoi.” The second the word left the filthy mouth of the person behind her, she knew that everything was wrong. The air smelled foul – like tar and burning bones. Dark magic filled the air and the pit of her stomach tightened in fear. She made to call out but the words clung in her throat like thick syrup. She clenched her eyes tightly shut and the entire world dissolved into darkness.

PHOTO

When her eyes blurrily opened, she was greeted by multiple pinpoints of bright light and shadows above her moving in the darkness. They chanted and hissed and she closed her eyes again. Willing it to be a nightmare, hoping to start awake in her tiny cot in her mistress’ home. But spells were not made of will or hope. She opened her eyes and anger swelled in her chest. She knew who they were, though she had never met them. She had heard whispers of them by her mother to their coven when she was but three. Darkness surrounded them and the darkness they worked towards twisted their faces hideously. What people pictured when the word witch was thrust about – this was them. Crones with malformed features and sparse hair loomed over her. She could feel he decay and rot in their breaths and smell the stench of corpses.

“Cailleach.” She spat, turning to the woman who stood next to her with a slender blade of bronze.

“So you know us, white one.” The descriptor was clearly not a reference to the color of her skin – as that was a deep caramel, nearly brown. She had her father to thank for the fact that she was not a deep black like her mother- his unsolicited advances toward the maid in the night had resulted in Margaret’s birth.

“It’s hard to mistake that stench.” Margaret hissed back and while her words were sharp and strong, she knew inside that she was weak and alone. No one would be coming to save her. No one would be coming to her aid. She would die her – their sacrifice. Her heat pounded in her chest. There was nothing she could do.

The crone laughed, echoed by her companions. “The words have been spoken and the turn on the moon is ripe. The Quickening will occur.” Her mouth twisted into what Margaret could only surmise was a smile. It revealed pointed teeth – what little remained from when the hag had been a human woman, before the darkness twisted her soul and ate at her flesh. “Five hundred years we have waited for the purity of the white one and soon we shall achieve it.” Unceremoniously, the crone sliced the length of Margaret’s arm. The white witch wanted to remain silent, to not give in to the pain and the terror that gripped her, but she could not. She screamed in pain and watched as the blood welled up and spilled over her skin.

The crone hissed to someone behind her. A bowl was produced to catch the liquid that spilled from her, carrying her lifeforce with it. “We only need a minute more of her breath in her blood. She must sustain.” More foolish words had never been spoken. The crone had grown too comfortable with how their plans had progressed. Margaret accepted her death readily and the only thing she could do now would be to thwart whatever plan had been placed in motion. If she were but to die a moment too soon….She smiled and let her eyes close and her life slip away as the horrible screeches of protest met her ears.

The Inbetween Time

The afterlife had abandoned her. She had not been permitted entrance to the next world – whatever lay beyond. Others like her said it was unfinished business, a vendetta, some nonsense. It had not started immediately. Margaret has arrived standing beside her body some time after her death. She stared down at it…at herself. Her dress was soaked in blood and her face had been branded in order to be scarred beyond recognition. Her limbs were swollen and disfigured because of the rain from a few days prior. There were apparently stages of grief, she learned a few centuries later, but she didn’t go through any of them. She had accepted her death…hastened it and therefore she had come to terms that she floated in another plane directly on top of the human one, the land of the living.

She spent the years of solitude and isolation observing people that captured her fancy. Perhaps it was the lingering effects of being a witch, but Margaret was able to touch things to an extent. She could also sense the greatness in people around her and when something large was on the horizon. She witnessed rebellions, new regimes, and assasinations. It led her to following Einstein, famous outlaws, JFK assassinations, Rihanna, and other characters on the stage of human existence.

She was present at the Alamo, watching as hundreds of men died in the sweltering heat of Texas. Margaret was present for the bombing of Hiroshima and when Hilter committed suicide in the lone bunker. Her eyes had scanned the scene of the death of numerous Americans during the cowardly attacks of 9/11. From time to time during these extremely tragic events, she would find extraordinarily normal people and follow the progress of their lives – though their ups and downs and birth to death. It was remarkable, that are some points when people were dying in mass graves in a far part of the world, a girl was crying into her pillow about a boy dating her friend. Margaret wondered if her tears had ever been so…heartfelt but completely irrelevant to the greater turning of the earth.

Never did she forget those that had harmed her, but they shielded themselves from her ghostly presence. She could not find them, for all of her attempts. She researched as best as she could – though it was hard to research manuscripts when the most she could do at a time was drag a volume to the ground and spend the next year flipping through pages. The Quickening was a confluence of the moon and certain astrological conditions that made it ripe for the darkness to permeate the world, capturing souls that didn’t even need to consent. It made her glad that she had died. White witches still abounded and lived among mortals but their numbers had vastly declined since the 500s, when they matched humans life for life. Now, if Margaret could make any educated judgment based on the coven meetings that she wandered through…there were maybe 15,000 white witches left. Now, that didn’t mean that there weren’t more people with the potential for magic, but only 15,000 in the entirety of the world capable of using their craft. She watched as they did what they could to maintain some balance, to understand the path of the darkness. She knew though, that they did no understand the Quickening. They didn’t understand that a virgin white witch’s blood was needed and that their death had to be spectacularly coordinated. The next Quickening potential would not be until 2015. Well, that was still a hundred years away. Perhaps she would have moved on by then…

June 2014
Well, it turned out that she would likely be present for the next potential time for the Quickening, which was constantly on her mind these days. She found herself searching the furthest reaches of old libraries and private collections in the hopes of stumbling upon the location where the lunar cycle would hit precisely. It happened that in 1682 that the prime location was a small wood outside of Edinburgh, Scotland. Without knowing the location, any attempt she made to prevent the ultimate end of the universe would be pointless. She contemplated her next move as she sat…well, hovered in a siting position, on a bench on a busy city street. What city…she wasn’t precisely sure. Her hair was straighter now, something to fit in with the times, in case some medium managed to snag a shimmer of her ghostly form. She has allowed herself to dress in a black skirt and cashmere sweater- yes, in her mind it was cashmere. She had felt the material once, in a Neiman Marcus in the 1970s. She had seen women fawning of it and the outrageous tag that showed a number she knew to expensive. She summoned whatever gave her power in this plane and ran her fingers across it, leaving only the faintest indent in the fabric. The touch had been remarkable. She could understand the comfort that a sweater or a blanket of that material would provide. She smiled to herself and marveled at the textile ingenuity of modern humans.

Brown eyes flickered up the street to see a boy…a man riding a bike, coming down the road. She cocked her head at him and narrowed her eyes, as though to be certain that they were not being deceived. The aura around him was shimmering with a black edge and she knew that he was marked for death. When? She was not sure, but as he drew closer she noticed that the black only hung around the outskirts of an aura that she had never seen before. It shimmered with all of the colors of the rainbow…of the world. No, not the traditional roygbiv that students were taught in school. Literally, every color. She could make out deep plums, vibrant oranges next to golden yellows and Mediterranean blues. She stood, startled by the sight and walked across the street, shivering only when a bus full of passengers slammed its was through her shimmering form.

She had seen auras or pure gold and silver and ones that danced between different hues. Never, though, had she seen one that possessed all the colors at the same exact time. Pursing her lips she stood, letting him pass her in a fury before she moved after him, faster than any ordinary person could walk – but hey – perks of being dead. Margaret stared at him as he was completely oblivious to her presence.

And so it began that she followed him. For a whole week she followed him, in and out of stores and his apartment. The only place she left him alone was the bathroom. While she may be well over 300 years old, Margaret was till raised in the 1600s when modesty was rather prized…at least among her class – she could not speak for those of her mistress’ station. As she followed him, she marveled at how ridiculously ordinary he was – which startled her. Someone with an aura like that…they had to be bound for something beyond death. The last person she had seen with an aura that drew her attention was Martin Luther King….but his too, had been marked by a black rim.

As she hovered in his living room, watching him eat, she pondered his death. She couldn’t let him die. Not before he accomplished what he was meant to. She ran her hands through her hair, tugging on the end of a few strands as she had always done when contemplating. Two days later, she was still tugging at her hair while he was riding his bike and she walking next to him. The immediate blacking of his aura was almost overlooked as she was so self-absorbed. She happened to just turn her head enough to catch it, how it had been overcome by a depth of darkness that completely enveloped him. Gasping, she looked ahead and saw it. The car wasn’t going to stop and he wasn’t going to see it. He was going to die by getting hit by a car. She wrinkled her nose at the idea of it and drew on the power that gave her whatever ability she had to touch tangible things. “I do apologize for this. It may hurt a bit.” Reaching out, just before his front wheel was to cross the street, she shoved the handles hard. Oh, he was going to be pretty badly banged up when he ran into the light post adjacent to him, but at least he wouldn’t be run over- at least he’d be alive. When he slammed into the long metal rod, Margaret winced and proceeded forward to take a closer look.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Wed Jul 02, 2014 2:50 am

by Requiem

The numbers on Ashton’s digital alarm clock flashed 3:49AM in glaring, obtrusive crimson, almost as obnoxious as the cellphone vibrating against his wooden nightstand. Though wide awake by the first pattern of buzzing spasms, he waited for the third cycle—a caller desperate to get a hold of him—before he bothered to answer. No phone call after midnight is ever a good one, he remembered his father telling him once when he was young. That’s because nothing good ever happens after midnight; if you’re not in bed, catchin’ those Zs, then you’re only getting’ in trouble, yeah?

He’d been right. And the irony was never lost on Ash, each and every time the old man called. Continually ringing his cell phone because he knew his only son never turned it off, and he knew when he was being ignored. Perhaps, given his father’s history of a life progressively wasted away at the neck of a beer bottle, he should have intuited this turn of events… And yet, the young man of twenty-one was in no way prepared for the news that, 3:55AM, now, would bring.

“Ashy, boy?” His father’s voice battled for clarity through a sheet of static, and Ash wondered fleetingly if the television had been disconnected from cable services again. It wouldn’t have been the first time, though in the past it hadn’t been such a dire issue that the man had seen fit to call at such an ungodly hour. “Ash, I got… it’s, well, it’s a bit of a sit’ation.”

“I can’t afford it.” The words tumbled mechanically past Ash’s sleepy lips. It was the first thing he said in response to his father, who began every conversation with a query that usually entailed needing money. He regretted ever giving the man his number, following graduating from high school and setting off to university, ten hours away by car. Yet he realized, deep down in what hope remained in his heart, that he’d have regretted it more had he decided to sever contact completely. Martin Kenway wasn’t much, anymore, but he was still something; he was all Ash had left.

The static on the other line was thick enough to almost muffle the sound of Martin clearing his throat. “Just hear me out, Ashy. I did… I think I screwed up. But in a big way.”

What was your first clue?, Ash thought bitterly as he propped himself up on his elbows, cradling his cell phone between his ear and his shoulder. “Dad, do you know what time it is?”

“I got nabbed, Ash.” Martin’s voice, so carefully controlled just seconds ago, suddenly broke out in heaving sobs. “It was… I didn’t think I had that much… Just a couple, y’know, and then I remembered I owed Jerry for the game I lost last week… It was only across town—you know where Jerry lives, eh, Ashy?” A prolonged sniffle interrupted his speech. “So it was only across town, I jumped in the truck…”

Profanity so cutting it would have made his poor, late mother faint tore from his vocal cords as realization hit him. “You didn’t. Dad…” Spine straightening like a ramrod, Ash threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood—for what? To rush out the door? Drive from Fredericton, all the way back to the little island of Cape Breton for his father’s benefit?
The truth was harsh; and the truth was, he was of no more use to his father in his own home than he was miles and miles away.

Pulse pounding in his ears with the whisperings of a headache, he composed himself with a slow inhale and spoke into the receiver: “Dad. Another DUI means they’ll put you away…” A fact of which Martin was likely already acutely aware, but he had to say it out loud to ground himself in reality, convince himself this wasn’t just a nightmare. “Is it bail money? Look, I’m still hunting for a summer job…”

“Not bail, Ashy.” Martin’s voice grew soft as his inebriated sobbing petered off. Defeated. It sent a chill down Aston’s spine. “I don’t get that this time. They got… they decided I’m gonna be here, for a little while. Just a little while…”

The night suddenly felt so much darker. Though he’d been sweating in his thick bed sheets just moments ago, a clawing cold clutched at Ash’s skin, and wouldn’t let go. “Dad. What did you… What can I even do?”

“Just a few years, Ashy…” As if repeating that would console his anxious son. “But I didn’t get out of some financial stuff… See, I’m kinda behind on some payments… credit cards, y’know. They didn’t let me off the hook even though they got me here in the slammer… Ashy? You there, Ashton?”

It was minutes later that Ash actually hung up, but he was gone long before then, his mind wandering to dark and hopeless places. This just went to show how wrong he had been, thinking he could leave Cape Breton, his father, and all of the mayhem behind him. Blood ties were strong, covered distances, and could never, ever, be escaped. Miles and hours between them, and Martin Kenway was still a strong presence in Ash’s life.
He always would be.
>

<

>

It hadn’t always been this way.

There hadn’t been anything remarkable, in the negative sense, about Ashton’s childhood when his mother had been alive. In fact, he couldn’t even remember his father picking up a glass of wine when it wasn’t a holiday or a social get together, back then. Susanna Kenway had been the anchor that kept everyone grounded: the one with the band-aids whenever Ashton scraped his knee on the playground near his house, the one with the consoling embrace whenever Martin returned home from a rough day at work, and the source of warmth to anyone she cared for.

And, as many people on the small island of Cape Breton argued (because news traveled fast, and if you didn’t know someone personally, you knew their brother, their aunt, or their third cousin twice removed) the Kenway family lost not only their anchor, but their lifeline to happiness when pancreatic cancer took Susanna from them in a matter of months. Ashton had only been ten years old; just a few days after his mother’s funeral, he began to notice the presence of beer bottles in his home—on the kitchen floor, in the living room, even in the hallways—for the very first time.

That was the beginning of the family’s downfall, but the crux of the Kenway diminuendo wasn’t when Susanna died, or even when Martin lost his job by the time Ash was thirteen. It wasn’t even when money began to grow sparse, because Ash had worked as a dish washer under the table for a family friend who ran a restaurant since he was thirteen, and was able to cover the occasional unpaid bill. It was around the age of sixteen, when his father—and, he, by virtue—had acquired a reputation that spread around their small town faster and more insidiously than the plague that Ashton knew, as soon as he graduated high school, he needed to get out. Out of his house, his town… hell, he needed out of Nova Scotia entirely, to put some semblance of distance between himself and the drunk that his father had become.

He wasn’t Martin Kenway, he’d never be like his father, and although Martin had never laid a hand on him and still spoke to him fondly at times and in soft tones on those rare occasions when he was sober, he didn’t want to be associated with him. For all intents and purposes, Ash’s childhood had ended the day his mother had died. It was time to move on, and that meant leaving his father, and the life he had paved for himself, behind.

A crucial, irreparable part of Martin had died along with Susanna, all those years ago, and Ashton couldn’t help him. It had taken some time to come to that realization, and had taken even longer to endorse the harsh reality, but it was what it was. And if he didn’t get out soon, he’d be lost.

Somehow, in spite of family turmoil and rumours and reputations that spread like wildfire, Ash was what his guidance counsellor had called ‘resilient’: strong in the face of adversity. His marks were in the top ten percent, enough to earn him scholarships and bursaries when he finally applied to universities. In fact, considering all of the money he earned at his after school job went towards smoothing over the holes his father left in bill payments, were it not for those scholarships, his aspirations to find a way out of Cape Breton might have become nothing more than some far-off dream. UNB in Fredericton, however, was quick to offer him a full renewable entrance scholarship, so long as he kept his marks up.

It was his key out of his hometown. But, as it turned out it wasn’t his key to escape his family’s dark plummet into hopelessness.

<

>

<
“Lacie, can you explain to me again why you need this text book back right now? Like, weeks into June, and months after exams?”

The weight of his father’s incarceration, and the debt for which he would have to take responsibility if he ever wanted to see his old man out of jail, still pressed intrusively on Ash’s shoulders when he rode his bike from his apartment complex located in downtown Fredericton that very afternoon. To add insult to injury, not only had he not slept since he hung up on his father, but as soon as the sun crested the horizon, his best friend was harassing him via text messages, frantically requesting he return a textbook she’d lent him months ago, and of which she hadn’t had any need since she’d handed it away. Not a moment of reprieve… And yet, he hadn’t had the heart to refuse, ask her to give him a break.

Then again, Lacie Matthews wasn’t privy to the life and the father he’d strived to leave behind in Cape Breton—not because she was untrustworthy, by any stretch of the truth, but because he spoke of it to no one. Up there with curses and fabled such as Bloody Mary and Candyman, he had it in his head that the less he spoke of it (and, in this case, he hadn’t spoken of it at all), the less real it would all be. That phone call from earlier that morning, however, was evidence enough that it was a tactic as childish as hiding from monsters under blankets. When it boiled down to the core, it was arguably less a matter of not wanting to bother others with his family turmoil, and more a matter of protecting his pride.

“C’mon, get with it, Ash. I already texted you the reason—and what’s taking so long, anyway?” Lacie’s voice sighed a static blat from the single earbud, manipulating the sound waves of her usually quiet voice around his sensitive eardrum. “My cousin’s doing a summer course, I said I’d lend her the book since you’re done with it and it would save her a couple hundred dollars. She’s already here and needs to pick it up ASAP because she’s catching a ride with her friend to head home to Truro later.”

“Right. Okay, just give me… I’ll be there.”

“Like, soon? Ash, I really don’t mean to be a nag, but she’s got less than a half hour… What held you up? I texted you hours ago…”

Truth be told, there was no reason why he couldn’t confide in Lacie, save for his own prideful obstinacy. She’d been a good friend from the very start; he couldn’t find his way around campus on his first day of his undergraduate, she’d skipped her first commitment of the day to give him an impromptu tour. He needed to copy some notes, she didn’t hesitate to lend a hand. Heck, she’d even spotted him a few times for lunch when cash was tight (which it always was, to some extent), without any expectation for recompense. But it was because of that very kind, genuine nature that he avoided talking about his family all together, for fear that he’d earn her pity, and knowing she would be impelled to help.

If he couldn’t tell her that he’d been occupied for most the morning, engaged in an exhausting, dead-end conversation with the lawyer that had been appointed to his father, then the least he could do was try and come through on a promise without a fuss.

“I’m sorry, Lace. Things have been… interesting. I’m on my way, fast as I can.”

With the heavy textbook weighing down the backpack on his shoulders, Ash wasn’t lying about the speed at which the worn, aged wheels of his worn, aged bike spun, down the one-way street at rush-hour traffic. He only narrowly avoided running into a couple light poles through careful maneuvering and general knowledge of the Main Street’s bike-friendly route. Lacie’s apartment complex was at the other end of town, and the realist in him knew, deep-down, that he wouldn’t make it in time. The foolish optimist thought otherwise; and the guilt-ridden friend didn’t care about what-ifs, but simply wished to make the effort so that, when he stood on her doorstep too late, he could at least tell her he tried.

He was about to hang up on the call, but the conversation, apparently, had not come to an end. “Hey… you okay, Ash?” Ashley’s voice transitioned from urgent to—as he’d feared—concerned. “You just out of breath, or are you crying? Is something up?”

Of course, she would choose now to be talkative. “Not crying. It’s all good. I should really go, though, Lace.”

“You do know that if something’s up we can talk, right?” Lacie persisted as tough she hadn’t heard him. “You’re not holding out with your feelings on me, are you, Kenway? And here I liked you for not being the macho type.”

“Lacie, I really need to go. I can’t concentrate—”

And that was when the call came to an end, and Ashton’s world plunged into chaos.

First, there was that voice, one that he might have sworn he imagined, but for all his troubles, Ashton wasn’t stuck with disembodied murmurs inside of his head: I do apologize for this. It may hurt a bit.
What? But what was…

Then he saw the car, a split second too late. His mind and body couldn’t work together quickly enough to veer out of the line of fire—and yet, his bike did it anyway. There was no other way to describe it, other than his bicycle turned on its own, taking matters into its own hands and swerving out of the road and into a light pole. Pain and stars exploded behind Ash’s eyes and in his ribs before he felt his grip on the handle bars give way, and the hot concrete of the sidewalk was hot at his back. For moments, there was nothing g but blackness and a ringing in his ears; he wondered if he was dead, or in-between being alive and dead, but then he opened his eyes. And, clear as day, his dream stood before him.

Not so much his dream, perhaps, as it was the girl in his dreams, recurring with her dark tresses, cinnamon-hued skin and enigmatic smile. He’d dreamed of her frequently over the course of the past few months, not knowing what it meant and not really caring.

Until now. Now, when he was not dreaming (because you didn’t hurt this much in dreams), and there she was, standing before him, sunlight streaking her brunette tresses with caramel wisps. Exotic and beautiful, and she was real.
That, or he was dead. Or hopelessly delusional.

“…you.” His lips formed the word that felt like molasses in his mouth, while his slight out-of-focus brown eyes fixed on her concerned face. “It’s… you. My dreams… you’re in my…”

That was where Ashton, banged up but mercifully alive, was interrupted as worried bystanders began to form a crowd around him, several cell phones dialing 911 simultaneously, and yet in his adrenaline-induced stupor, he didn’t care about the pain, the ribs that were either broken or bruised, or the gash on his forehead leaking warm lifeblood, dark against the sun-bleached concrete. He wanted to know why he was seeing her now, who she was, and why she had been invading the private haven of his dreams.

And, most importantly, he wanted to know if (and, frankly, had a hunch that) she was somehow the reason he still had a heartbeat at that moment.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Wed Jul 02, 2014 10:23 pm

by Simply

Margaret watched as his head slammed forcefully into the poll. She winced, bringing her hands up to her eyes like a frightened child. Peeking between her pinky and ring finger, her dark eyes scanned the scene, seeing the twisted front wheel and handlebars of the bike mangled. Well, he was certainly going to have quite a few bruises and probably a concussion. Better than dead though, she mused to herself without saying anything. Margaret had not gotten used to being silent, though. She would often find herself responding to individuals that she followed. Once, she had even had a twenty-minute conversation with Albert Einstein concerning the theory of relativity. It had been riveting.

However, this train of thought was abruptly halted as he spoke to her – directly to her. She whipped her head around, dark hair flying about to see who was standing behind her. There was no way that he could see her. He had to be delusional and seeing things. Perhaps he was seeing his mother? From her meticulous stalking, she knew that the woman had died when he was young. Perhaps his close encounter with death had brought her memory back to him. Whatever it was, he could not possible have been talking to her. He had spoken with an air of familiarity to his voice and so he must have seen whomever he was talking to before. They had certainly never met. She knew very few witches that lived longer than a century and he was clearly no witch.

The dark-haired beauty followed him to the hospital, having arrived even before the ambulance had. She strummed her fingers against the side of her skirt as she watched him being pushed in on a stretcher, unconscious from some kind of contusion on his head. They would likely pump him with IV fluids and make sure there was no hemorrhaging internally before letting him go the next day. (Margaret had been lurking around hospitals long enough to pick up a few things. With three hundred years, you became pretty knowledge about a lot of random things you would never be able to actually employ).

Standing beside his bed when they had him monitored, she looked down at his aura. It was still flecked with black, which made her curiosity peak. She took a step closer to him, leaning down as if she could touch the colors that he exuded only in the ghostly plane that she resided in. Frowning, she pulled back and wondered if it was because his death was imminent, as it was for all mortals. But that didn’t make any sense, she mused, running her hand through her hair. Then everyone would show signs of the darkness. No, there was something far more significant about his. She tossed her head as if to sort out all of the confusing thoughts.

“Well at least you are still alive. I guess you have a little more time now, not much though. Maybe a few years,” she shrugged. Unfortunately, life meant little to her now, as she had seen so much come into the world and so many people leave this world for a place that she would never go. One might say that she was a little bitter about others abilities to move on. “I do not know what it is about you though. This…” she trailed off and ran her fingers through the space around him where she could see the bright colors, “is extremely intriguing.” She knew she was talking to herself, but who else was there to talk to these days?

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Wed Jul 02, 2014 11:11 pm

by Requiem

She blinked out of his vision just as quickly as he could have sworn she had been there, and the rest was all a blur.

Ash was unconscious before the paramedics even arrived, securing him to a stretcher and rushing him to the hospital with the sirens and lights blaring from the large, white vehicle. At times, he thought he could hear voices, comments about his blood pressure or the bleeding from his forehead; at another point, he was almost certain someone had pried his eyelids open and shone a light, inciting the frustrated desire to cuff them and tell them to screw off. But beyond those details, he could only remember blackness.

Getting knocked out cold wasn't the same as sleeping, Ash was quick to realize, because there were no dreams--just an all-encompassing dark fog. And whenever Ashton slept, he dreamt; it was a given, with no exceptions. So when consciousness slowly returned to him, hours later when he was secured in a hospital bed hooked up to a heart monitor, he recognized that it all felt a little 'off'. And that wasn't just in terms of the pain.
There was that voice, again... voices in the absence of nonsensical images, which meant it couldn't be a dream.

"Well at least you are still alive. I guess you have a little more time now, not much though. Maybe a few years...”

Oh. Cool. So I'm dying, now? With cynical thoughts collecting themselves from their scattered crevices of his mind, Ash clawed his way out of the dark, towards that voice. It was something to reach for--even if, unbeknownst to him, it was not of the world of the living.

“I do not know what it is about you though. This… is extremely intriguing.”

"...that's a new one... for a hospital." Ash heard his voice and felt his lips move before he realized he was awake. "Dying people 'intrigue' you...?"

His eyelids felt so heavy it was as if they were glued shut, but he forced them open anyway, squinting against the white glare of the room.
And then, gradually, like ripples settling on a pond, she came into focus. All caramel skin and dark locks, standing over him like he puzzled her. The young woman from his dreams.

The young woman he'd seen at the scene of his accident.

"You don't look like any doctor or nurse..." He murmured, struggling to clear his throat, which felt like sandpaper. Gingerly reaching up to touch his head, which throbbed and stung but not to any excruciating extent (likely all thanks to whatever fluid dripped from that clear plastic ban into the IV in the top of his right hand), he felt bandages. So this is the advantage of wearing a bike helmet... "Who are you...?"

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 12:54 pm

by Simply

When he responded, the surprise flickered visibly across her features. He was responding to her exact words. Swallowing, she flexed her fingers and took a few steps back from him. He could hear her. If her heart had a beat, it would have been pounding in her chest like a wrecking ball bent on destroying her ribcage. She blinked multiple times and for the first time in nearly three decades, she was alarmed and flabbergasted by this series of events. Margaret stared down at him as she made the customary motion to inhale, as though she breathed. It was hard to break habits, even if she had no use for the movements in many years.

When his eyes opened, she met them with whatever conviction she could muster. Perhaps this had something to do with his aura. The most she could do was…well, respond. “I’m neither of those things.” She murmured, her voice soft and what one might imagine a ghost to sound like – muffled. “I- I am-“ She was promptly cut off by the entrance of a nurse, that must have been alerted to the change in his condition due to the numerous amount of wires that he was currently connected to. Margaret turned at the noise of the door and the entrance of a small cart the nurse was pushing. The dead witch tried to move out of the way, though it was unnecessary. Unfortunately, she had not been quick enough and the cart pushed through her right thigh. She looked down at it, feeling only the familiar prickle of the other plane of existence moving through her non-corporeal form.

She stepped away, moving over to the other side of his bed as the nurse began to take some of his vitals down on a sheet of paper she apparently had to fill out every time she came into his room. “Glad to see you’re awake!” She exclaimed, looking over at him as she set down the folder that was full of his information. “We have placed your items over there,” she indicated with a long finger the bedside table where Margaret now stood, “Mr. Kenway. We were not sure who to call for you so we rang the last person listed in your cell phone. A Miss Lacie. She said she would be over straight away.” The nurse chatted along as she tried to make him more comfortable by providing him with another pillow. “You took quite a nasty turn into that lamppost. Did you hit a pothole?” She asked, making conversation as she took a small paper cup from the cart she had brought with her, letting her other hand grab a larger cup of water. She held them both out to him.

“These will help with your headache, dear. No doubt you’ll have a substantial one.” He voice was littered with an American accent and Margaret wondered where she was from, purposefully not making eye contact with the boy. She hoped that he wouldn’t make any mention of her – but hopefully, if he did, it could be attributed to his rather large knot that was forming on his head. “Tale them all and I’ll be back with some food in a moment. Doctor thinks you’ll be ready to go early tomorrow morning but they want to make sure you don’t have any subcranial hemorrhaging overnight. That can be a nasty bit of mess, let me tell you.” She chatted, cheerily despite the subject as she moved her little met cart towards the door.

“Is there anything I can get you in the meantime, Mr. Kenway? Anyone else you want me to call? Any questions?” Margaret stepped back, trying to hide as though everyone could see her and not just the boy whose life she saved.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 2:20 pm

by Requiem

He was delirious; damaged. Confused. He had to have been, because when he looked from the girl with caramel skin to the kindly nurse, he thought he saw... No, he knew he'd seen in. The older woman had walked right through her, as if the girl was not there at all.
This has to be a dream. It must be a dream.

But it wasn't, because the nurse was asking his questions, and every second he came to realize more and more that he was conscious the pain in his head and throbbing through his likely bruised ribcage seemed to become more and more prominent. "I... don't know. I..." Incoherent in his thoughts and his words, Ash deflated with a long sigh. Had he hit a pothole? The accident was such a blur of pain and pavement and metal poles that the details were lost on him. "Think... I think I swerved? To avoid a car..." Except he hadn't served at all: the bike at, all on its own.

And then, that girl had been there...

His hands felt heavy when he held the out to take the cup and the painkillers. The pills scratched his dry throat as he took a large swallow of water, only realizing after he'd drained the entire cup just how dehydrated he was. How long had he been out...? There were no windows in this recovery room; only steely lights that offered the impression of a perpetual, joyless, nondescript daytime. For all he knew, it could have been three in the morning again. Nothing good ever happens after midnight... But then, he reasoned a his the synapses in his brain slowly began to fire again, if Lacie was on her way, then it couldn't be that late. He couldn't have been unconscious for too long...

Slightly uplifted with the promise of a little food (although he couldn't discriminate hunger pangs from the general ache of his body), Ash followed the nurse with his eyes as she made to leave--but not without asking the question that had gone unanswered: "Who is she?" And his eyes flicked to Margaret.

Naturally, this elicited a look of concern on the nurse's kind face: from her point of view, there was no other 'she' in the room. "Just you relax, dear. Your poor head has been through a lot."

When he was alone again (or not so alone, depending on his sanity, which was still in question), Ashton turned his attention to the mystery girl, brows furrowed in confusion and curiosity. "Did she just... it looked like she just... walked through you," he struggled to articulate the words, his tongue thick and heavy with exhaustion and pain relievers. "I saw you, at the accident. You were there, but... why are you here? And why'd that nurse just ignore you...?"

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 2:58 pm

by Simply

Ash had almost let the nurse leave and Margaret was about to allow a large exhale of relief to escape her soft lips. Then he went and opened his mouth. Her hands rose from her sides in an exasperated motion but she quickly she set them back in their place. How could he know that she was dead? It must have been confusing for him, just as much as it was for her. She wondered just how solid she appeared to be. Clearly she appeared near enough to alive that it was causing him a great deal of distress. Should she just leave? She could easily phase out to somewhere near by and leave the boy to recover from his accident.

Her curiosity outweighed any sense, though. Curiosity would kill her. Oh wait...

The nurse left with a soft click of the door behind her and Margaret turned her eyes back to the human being that could actually see her. She let him mumble out his words, listening how his tongue was slurring against his teeth due to the medication and pain. He was far more articulate than this normally, she thought absentmindedly as she let him finish before she took a casual stroll around towards the foot of his bed. Pursing her lips, the young (or old?) woman took a inhale of nonexistent air and exhaled it in a huff.

"I am not quite positive where I should begin my explanation. Due to your current condition and obvious...confusion," Margaret was trying to be as diplomatic as possible, "it may be best just to be as forward as possible. I do not know how you can see me or hear me. In fact, it's rather alarming that this has suddenly changed but," she shrugged in her large gray sweater, her hair brushing across her shoulders. The words died on her tongue for a moment and she nodded, deciding that it would be best if she just came out with the words as bluntly as possible.

"I'm dead. More accurately I currently reside as a shade in some plane that parallels the human one." This may have been a little too descriptive for him. "I'm a ghost but humans, particularly mortals such as yourself, have never been able to see me, let alone communicate with me. I'm just as surprised as you." Margaret was quite straightforward about it and kept talking. It could have been that she had longed for some kind of intimacy through conversation due to her years of silence, just watching the lives of those around her - but she kept speaking, almost excited. "Have you ever been able to communicate with any others such as myself? No," she added the last word after a quick moments hesitation - riddling it out for herself. If he had, he clearly would not be so alarmed at her ghostly presence. "I wonder what changed. "

The tanned lady came around to the side that she had been standing on originally. She took her lower lip into her teeth as she thought and a shadow passed across her face as she turned back - almost forgetting that he could hear her. It was difficult to remember something, especially when she had been talking to herself for 300 years. "I apologize. Does any of this make any sense to you?" She looked at him as bough he might have some explanation for their current predicament.

Ooc: I wrote this on my phone cause I was excited. Please forgive any ridiculous typos. I was too excited!! (:

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 3:28 pm

by Requiem

"...could've just said you're a ghost."

They might have been the most ridiculous words that Ashton had ever spoken, and the lackadaisical cadence of his tone surprised even him. But this massive information dump from the over-excited young woman all pointed to the same thing, and she simply ended up explaining her nature and existence in a myriad of unnecessary ways.
And--maybe it was just his drug-addled mind--but it kind of made sense. Who else, or what other stranger, would show up in his dreams, the scene of an accident, and then here in his hospital room...seemingly unnoticed by anything else?

It explained a lot. And yet, he was still thirsty for answers.

Ash fought through the fog of pain and painkillers and struggled to sit upright, groaning softly at the shooting pains through his ribs as he righted himself on the extra pillow the nurse had provided. If this did turn out to be some drug-induced hallucination, some manifestation of his strange dreams, then at least it was a good source of entertainment in this otherwise bleak hospital room.
"So... I can see you... but no one else can." He spoke slowly, and for his own benefit; it didn't seem to sink in until his own ears heard it in his own voice. "And you don't know why... is that why you're here?"

"Ash?"
A familiar feminine voice from the doorway captured his attention. A fair-skinned girl with straight blonde hair, and wearing a lime-green Aerpostale hoodie paused and stared at the sorry sight in the hospital bed, before rushing to his side--and passing right through Margaret on the way. "Oh my god... What did you do to yourself, Kenway? I came as soon as the hospital called..."

"Hey, Lace... mind coming over to the other side?" He gestured to the side of the bed where Margaret wasn't standing--perhaps out of politeness, or maybe, despite that she was dead, Ashton still recognized the apparition of this caramel-skinned woman as a presence. Ghosts are people too?

Lacie looked puzzled, but after taking a good look at the band-aid on his forehead, decided it was best to just humour him and moved across from Margaret. She lay a hand on Ash's bicep; he winced. "Shit... look at you. The nurse said major concussion, potential for, like... brain-bleeding, or something, and a fractured rib? All because you ran into a pole... cripes, why aren't you dead?"

Ashton laughed, and instantly regretted it for the misery it caused his evidently fractured ribcage. "...thanks, Lace. Your cousin's textbook is in..." His eyes trailed to the chair where the nurse had put his belongings; the one in front of which his ghostly companion stood. "...the doctors have some of my stuff. I'll get it to you sooner than later, promise."

"Whatever, Kenway." The blonde shook her head, with an expression that was equally as disappointed as it was concerned for his condition.

Damn. When a girl wants her textbook, she's not messing around.

|O.o.C: On your phone??? You are so dedicated hahahaha|

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 3:48 pm

by Simply

Margaret tossed her head back and forth in a negative response to his question. It was what was perplexing most and what her mind was racing to find answers to. How could he suddenly see her? He hadn't been able to for the last few weeks so he was certainly no medium. He had never exhibited any extraordinary magical characteristics other than his alluring aura that shimmered around him. She chewed on the inside of her lip and was about to propose a myriad of tantalizing theories when she heard his name accompanied by the soft click and creak of the hospital door opening. She frowned, clearly annoyed with the interruption to her first human contact in centuries. Swallowing the words, she watched as a young woman strolled into the room, expressing extensive amounts of concern.

Someone about the girl immediately grated on Margaret – though she had seen the girl a couple of times before. She attributed it to the interruption but then studied Lacie. Her aura was hazy, not in the same way some people’s were. No, it was hazy the way fog made the world seem cloudy. It was as though it was hiding its true self from her and she couldn't help but narrow her eyes at the girl. A sensation entered the pit of her stomach and made her shift her imaginary weight around. Pointedly, she directed her focus towards the injured boy in the bed. As she did, the girl passed through her.

If she had blood, it would have turned to ice in her veins. Gasping in alarm, the dead witch staggered backwards, barely hearing Ash ask his companion to move to the other side of the bed. She clutched at her chest momentarily, as if a heart still beat inside and had suddenly jumped out of rhythm. It happened sometimes, when people with striking auras or strong wills passed through her. She just hadn't been prepared for a silly little girl with a hoodie to cause it to happen. Shaking her head, she brushed her hands on her black, short skirt. "How rude." She murmured, renewing her glare at the person who stood across from her now, the bed separating them.

Margaret crossed her arms. She was impatient. While Margaret had followed him around for a few weeks, she had only casually seen the girl before and never much bothered to pay her any mind. She had been interested in Ashton's appealing aura. However, Lacie had quite a good deal of the girl's attention now. "She has positively the worst timing in the history of my existence, which, let me assure you, is substantial." Crossing her arms, the ghost flicked her eyes to and from the injured boy and his newly arrived friend. “But don’t tell her about me.” She hastily said to him, coming closer to the bed. “She’ll either think your insane, hallucinating…or worse.” Something made her uneasy as his companion’s presence. It was best to be cautious for now. Too many peculiar things were beginning to happen all at once.

And Margaret did not believe in coincidences.

Ooc: yep!! Haha I'm in the car on a 2 hour trip and I saw it and was like yess!!!

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 8:40 pm

by Requiem

He thought she might leave, then--Lacie, that is. You didn't typically stick around a person who was in dire need of rest and recuperation, and now that she knew he wasn't dead, what reason would she have to keep him awake with her chatter?
Apparently 'reasons' didn't much matter to Lacie, at least, not of late. Not now, not when he had almost met his doom at the hood of a speeding car in rush hour traffic...

The blonde took a seat in the chair next to his bed and folded her hands in her lap.
"I'm sorry," she sighed, staring down at her shaped fingernails, like she suddenly couldn't look at him. "I feel like this is my fault. Hauling you out of the house to cross town at that hour of the day, all because someone else needed that stupid textbook..."

"Hey, don't do that." Ash would have shaken his head if he was capable. "None of that... hindsight stuff. My head is pounding; I can't really tolerate it right now. I'm still alive, that's all that matters."

"I know. I know. But, um..." Lacie paused, contemplating something that was clearly leaving her feeling undecided. Ash wondered (hoped) she might leave it at that, but the hoodie-clad girl ultimately decided it needed to be said. "Ash, why did they contact me? I mean, you're in the hospital after an accident? What about your parents?"

Which one? The dead one or the incarcerated one? Ash did not want to broach this subject. Not to Lacie, not yet, and especially not right now, when he could hardly piece his thoughts together. Brown eyes drifted to the IV stuck into the top vein of his right hand, secured with medical tape. "You were the last active contact when they found my phone."

"Yeah, but that still doesn't make sense. Do your parents even know where you are, Ash? All banged up, overnight in the hospital..."

And then, the other woman--the ghost--was talking into his other ear. Had he the energy and mobility, Ashton might've just lost it, right then and there. Couldn't the dark-haired spectre wait her turn? He might've had two ears, but only one brain to process one conversation at a time. "Will you shut up for a second?" He snapped, without thinking about it. The talking ceased so abruptly, even an echo wasn't left behind.

Lacie, for one, was not impressed. "Excuse me?" Her fair face pinched and grimaced in distaste. "Ashton Kenway, since when do you--"

"Not you, h-..." Not you, Lacie; I'm yelling at the ghost. The one over here, that you can't see. As if. "...hey, Lace, I'm really not fit for a conversation right now," he sighed, heavy lids falling over his eyes. "Rain check?"

He wasn't exactly forgiven, but his friend could take a hint... when it was presented to her in such a way that didn't allow room for argument, at least. Was she just uptight out of some weird guilt over what had happened? He'd never known Lacie Matthews to be so... testy. Uptight with him. Then again, he wasn't exactly fit to overanalyze...
"Sorry." Lacie stood, shaking her head. "You're right. You need to sleep. Let me know when they discharge you, okay?"

A moment later, Ashton was alone again. Except for the ephemeral presence next to him, wearing as stern an expression as his friend had, prior to her departure. Cracking his eyes open, he flashed a tired look of remorse. "Sorry. Look, I'm just a little overwhelmed right now... I don't even understand why I'm not freaking out, to be honest." Those must've been some awesome drugs the nurse had given him. "Do you have a name, or...?"

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 9:48 pm

by Simply

Margaret heard him snap and her and she all but jumped out of her ghostly skin. She turned her face to him, mildly shocked that he would speak to her in such a manner. Dark eyes narrowed harshly at him but she didn’t speak anymore. Swallowing hard, she crossed her arms with a slight harrumph and shook her head. This was preposterous, but she kept her silence, moving her glare from him to her. Her gaze followed the girl’s exit as she fled the room with a slightly irritated air about her.

“Likely because you’re drugged and concussed.” She said, shrugging when he apologized. She considered not speaking to him anymore, but he was the only human being that had talked to her in years. Sighing, she moved over to his bed and hoisted herself up onto the bed. Granted, the motion was superfluous. She could have just willed herself into a sitting position with a moment’s thought, but something about making human movements kept her grounded in reality. Turning her body partly towards him, she looked him over carefully.

“Of course I have a name!” The alarm was evident in her voice. She shook her head though. “Margaret.” She smiled slightly. As she sat near him, she reached out again and brushed her fingers against it aura. It tingled against her fingers, dancing between his plane and her own. Auras were exceptionally intriguing. Their presence had been known in her time and some witches were able to see them particularly well. Margaret had not possessed that gift, but now that she was dead she could feel their connection to whatever place she still existed.

“And you’re Ashton Kenway. I’ve been following you for the past few weeks.” Perhaps some of her time in that ghostly realm had weakened some of her social skills. “Sorry about that,” her hand flickered upwards towards his head, “but you were going to die. I did not think it prudent to let you die so young. Especially with an aura like yours, I haven’t seen anything like it in decades. It tingles when I touch it, which is surprising but not altogether unheard of.” She kept talking as though she was the only one in the conversation – bad habit she had picked up.

“You should be more careful,” the witch suddenly lectured. “You weren’t even paying much attention and that car was coming straight towards where you were going to cross. I mean, come on. And rushing to give a stupid book to that trollop?” She snorted, waving at the door. Man…her social skills really needed some work, pronto. Then she finally realized that she had been rambling, with him unable to get a word in edgewise. Sheepishly, almost, her brown eyes flickered up towards him and she cocked her head.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 10:54 pm

by Requiem

"Margaret." He tried the name on his heavy tongue. An old one, not so old that it had fallen out of favour, but not one that you would expect to encompass the identity of someone who didn't look much older than he was. "Sounds kinda ancient... hey, how old are you, anyway? Ever go by 'Maggie', or anything?" A stupid question, he realized too late; she likely didn't go by anything, if he was the only person to interact with her in eons. Well, maybe he would call her Maggie.

Wait... what am I thinking? It wasn't like she was going to become some permanent presence in his life, right?
Apparently, that had already been decided, and entirely without his input.

"Whoa... wait. Wait. You've been..." Ashton narrowed his eyes until her very real form grew fuzzy in his vision. "Like... what? You've been stalking me, or something? That's creepy. Like, not even ghost or dead-person creepy, just plain... weird. You don't do that to people, living or dead. Ever hear of privacy?"

It only then occurred to him then that it might be to his benefit to keep his voice down, as he glanced at the door, apprehensively wondering who would walk through there next, and when. "Are you saying..." Pausing to exhale and steady himself, steady his thoughts and digest everything she was telling him, Ash met her eyes wearing a small frown. "So, you're the reason I've got a concussion and fractured ribs... but you're also the reason I'm alive?" Now it was all beginning to make sense... That voice, the way his bike had suddenly swerved, remembering her face before he lost consciousness. This was because of her.

He had Margaret to blame, just as much as he had her to thank.

"Auras? What?" Having no knowledge of the topic, himself, (and not being in a state of mind to learn anything new), Ash chose not to dwell on that strange comment, and instead moved on to the next. "Well, excuse me for being a little distracted... I had a rough night. Then again, if you've been stalking me, you should already know that." He didn't bother to candy-coat his decidedly acerbic tone, paired with the glare he shot in Margaret's direction for her choice of words describing Lacie. "Hey, that 'trollop' is my best friend, thanks. She's done a lot for me... the least I could do return her damn text book when she asked." Lacie's ill-disguised disappointment still weighed on his mind, but he didn't bother to dwell on it. Girls had their moods; he'd wait until she cycled out of hers before getting in touch again.

"Listen, Maggie," he sighed, gingerly adjusting his position on the pillows again. Without meaning to, his hand accidentally passed through her knee, causing him to freeze in awe. A drop in temperature, a cold patch... that was all she was. He'd known she was a ghost, but only now did it really seem to register. Clearing his dry throat, he went on: "Other than... aura... stuff... is there a reason you're haunting me?"
As if he didn't have enough personal demons, and skeletons in his closet.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Fri Jul 04, 2014 7:01 pm

by Simply

Grimacing slightly when his knee phase through where she was, she realized that she probably could have phrased things a little bit better and taken things a little more slowly. Hindsight was 20/20. Sighing, she let him finished before beginning to address everything in a more logical and thorough manner. He really couldn’t have any idea what was going on. Should she start with the fact that magic existed? No, that would be too complicated. She didn’t need to share her story or the presence of witches in the world.

“All right. We’ll start at the beginning, I suppose. Though let’s get one thing straight. I am not haunting you.” She made a dismissive gesture as if she was slightly irritated with the fact that this was going to take longer than she desired. “Each person has an aura – a magical manifestation of them that hovers around them.” She reached out to the external sparkings of his own soul, running her fingers through it. They tingled, delighted by all of the physical sensation of colors. She drew them back to her and set it in her lap. “A representation of their soul, it has been said , but I’m not really certain of what it is.”

Her slight Scottish accent had dwindled over time as she had mastered dozens of languages and worked on masking it – there wasn’t much else to do in this afterlife she was subjected to. “I saw yours weeks ago, when I happened to be wandering the city. Your aura is unique.” She said, focusing on the swirling hues, for a long moment. “As you can imagine, there is nothing for me to do where I am so finding interesting things to occupy my time with is normal.” She shrugged. “And it’s not stalking. I do not follow you into places where you need privacy. Did I attend some of your classes? Yes. Did I hover around while you made dinner and watch television? Yes. “ Another shrug raised her shoulders and she turned her gaze upward to his eyes.

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him slightly. “Your gratitude is not abundant.” The words fell from her mouth as she looked at his bandages. “But you’re welcome for saving your life. “ Margaret added sarcastically but then she realized that he had called her Maggie. She wrinkled her nose. “My name’s Margaret.” She said, but without much conviction. She was very “old-school” as some people might say. “Look, I don’t know what you expect me to say about why you cans see me though. I’m baffled, as much as you are. Perhaps it was because you came so close to death that part of you is lingering in between for a while. If anything, it will likely cease n a few days.”

“Your aura looks safe now…no impending death within the next few days, at least.” She realized that didn’t sound very comforting. “I mean, no more than a lot of people have.” She shook her head again. “I don’t know exactly what I should say but I think you’ll be fine now.”

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Fri Jul 04, 2014 7:52 pm

by Requiem

The corner of Ash's mouth turned upward in a tight, undecided smile. He tried to recall if, over the past few weeks as the Spring semester had come to a close, he had noticed anything strange. The air was cooler when Margaret was nearby; had there been any cold patches? Had anything seemed aray, back at home? Who are you kidding, Ashton Kenway? Since when has anything back at home felt normal?
Not since his mom had passed away.

The clock across the room read ten after 7; he'd left for Lacie's at 3:30 in the afternoon, and had hit rush hour by four. Amazing, where three hours could go, when you were unconscious... "Private or not, stalking is stalking," he commented. She didn't seem the type to hang around when he was in the shower, although the prospect that she'd been there several times in the aftermath, with his hair still damp and clad in boxers and a T-shirt... It might have been slightly unsettling. "But... I'm not being insincere, okay? If I'm alive because of you, how can I not have some gratitude?"

He had no idea what she was touching when her fingers passed through this supposed 'aura'; Ash hardly felt a tingle, and his eyes depicted nothing but air. If it weren't some long-dead ghost of a girl explaining it all, he might have called bullshit. But that wasn't the case, and at the moment, concussed and drugged-up, anything seemed possible.

"So you're telling me I've got a weird... aura thing," he repeated aloud for his own benefit. "And that's why you gravitated to me? Because it interested you?" Not that he blamed her: what else would a ghost do, if they weren't wreaking havoc as a poltergeist or haunting some grave yard?
But that only piqued more questions, and he narrowed his eyes inquisitively as he took in the soft contours of her perpetually sunkissed face.

What kept her walking in the world of the living? Was it even polite to ask?

That was a moot point; he was going to do it anyway.
"Maggie... sorry, Margaret," ash articulated, though the slip up was intentional. "Why are you here? I don't mean here, as in standing next to my bed, or even as in my life for the past few weeks... Why are you here at all? Why haven't you moved on or whatever happens when people die?"

If the question came across as unkind, that certainly hadn't been his intention. But it must have been something big holding this girl back... After all, it's not like anyone would choose to be stuck among the living as a whisper of the person they had once been. Was it revenge? Did she have some weird unfinished business? And, if so, wouldn't she be busy accomplishing that instead of hanging around loser undergrad students like him?

What was keeping her tethered?

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Fri Jul 04, 2014 10:01 pm

by Simply

“Then I suppose I was stalking you, if terms matter to you so greatly.” Margaret was growing impatient with his insistence that she was doing something inappropriate. She had just saved his life, hadn’t she!? And it was not the same as a living being stalking another living being. He had not even known she was present and she hadn’t relayed any information to anyone about any of his behaviors. It irked her, in a word, to have him be so adamant on this matter. She waved her hand at it again, brushing it away.

Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes slightly. Her social skills had declined exponentially over the years. “Everyone had an aura, not just you. Yours just happens to be remarkable compared to millions of others that I have seen over the years.” A shrug of her shoulders. He wasn’t the only one that she had ever found truly interesting, but the first in a long time. Closing her eyes for a moment, she leaned back slightly, careful to not brush through his aura and against his body. It was a discouraging feeling. She turned her gaze upon him, opening her eyes slightly.

Brown eyes narrowed when he called her Maggie, but she didn’t say anything. His words surprised her and she looked down at her fingers, twisting them around each other. After a silent moment with the air growing thick between them, Margaret licked her lips and spoke. “I do not know.” She answered honestly, look over towards the tiny window of his tiny hospital room. She stood up off of the bed and walked towards it, staring out at parking lot that circled the ashen building. Chewing on the inside of her lip, the familiar feeling of anxiety entered the pit of her stomach. Would she ever move on? Why was she held here? These were the same questions that she had sought answers to. The only conclusion hat she had ever come to was that her death had been too violent but unfinished. She was meant to be sacrificed but died too slowly to pass on but too quickly to serve the evil witches purpose.

“It was a long time ago and nothing has changed. I don’t believe that I shall pass on. There might be others like me but we do not cross paths frequently…or ever really.” Turning back to him, a question arose in her mind though she had thought that the idea was completely preposterous. The words exploded from her lips with a great force, tumbling into the air between them.

“Any chance you have witch blood?”

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Fri Jul 04, 2014 11:13 pm

by Requiem

"...what?"
Okay, so there was the implausible: ghosts were implausible. Unlikely. But not beyond reason, and as Margaret demonstrated with her very presence in his hospital room, they were no impossible. But witches... The first thing that came to mind were the green-skinned hags with the pointy hats. Even if ghosts and auras were a thing, did she really expect him to believe in the existence of witches?

Or, furthermore... was she actually considering he was one? Or partially one...

"Wait... what are you suggesting? Witch as in, like, Pagan?" Ash asked, craning his neck to watch as his ghostly company moved to a window just out of his range of vision "Because both of my parents were Christian Baptist, so..." . Before Margaret had a chance to respond, the kindly nurse from before pushed through the door, wearing a smile and a small tray of food.

"Good; you seemed a little more fit to eat, hm? No pressure, dear, but it's all here in case you're hungry." Setting the tray aside, she checked numbers on the monitors above and surrounding his beck, scribbling them down on a sheet. "How're you feeling? Any more pain? Nausea? How's your vision, dear?"

Too many questions, too much talking... Right now, his biggest concern wasn't his fractured ribs or severe concussion. It was the girl standing at the other end of the room who nobody else could see. "All good... I'm fine, thank you."

The nurse appeared satisfied and, given that he was not only awake, but not coherent and rambling about people who were not there, left him alone again. Ash held his breath and waited thirty seconds after the door softly clicked shut (just in case his voice carried beyond it) to speak up again. When he turned his head to find Margaret, she was still standing by the window.

"Wow... I don't really know what to say," he admitted softly. How the heck could he empathize with that? The closest he'd come was losing consciousness for three hours following the accident. "It must be really frustrating for you, being stuck here, and all... Have you met any others? Like you, I mean. Surely... well, obviously you're not the only soul stuck in this limbo. Have you met anyone else struggling to find a way to pass on? There's gotta be some solution. Some whole balance of the universe thing, right...?"

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Sat Jul 05, 2014 6:22 pm

by Simply

Margaret, again, rolled her eyes at the irritation that she felt due to the unnecessary interruption. Though, as the nurse came in with a small tray of edible items, the witch’s mind wandered a bit. She had seen some delectable looking foods since she had died. One of the things that she most wanted to taste was pizza. It seemed so simple but she had watched how it had changed over the years. The crust was infused with garlic and herbs. The sauce appeared to be a robust mixture of roasted tomato and spices and the cheese…Cheese was something that she had loved when she was lived. And now all of the different kinds…She closed her eyes at the thought, not listening to the conversation that was taking place in the room around her.

When the woman left, Margaret turned her attention to Ash. “Not Pagan.” She sighed, frustrated with his lack of comprehension. “Have you never read a fantasy novel?” She hadn’t, but she had read the backs of quite a few when she had strolled through bookstores absentmindedly. “Witches. Magic. Not the wand kind though, but spells and magic. I don’t really know how else to explain it to you. There are witches in the world and I was curious if you had any witch blood but clearly not. You’d know.” She waved a hand dismissively as though the whole idea had been preposterous in the first place and a waste of their breaths.

Then he addressed her again, asking about how she could hover in this in between place for so long. “It was difficult for the first fifty years but after that,” a shrug raised her shoulders. That was her characteristic motion. She had made it frequently when she had been alive, but only outside the gaze of her mistress. “I’ve met a few, more recently deceased souls, but most manage to travel on. I do no know why I am not privileged enough to be permitted passage. It is no matter.” She did not wish to discuss her death with him. It was none of his concern.

“I would be careful if I was you, riding your bike around in such a hurry without watching for individuals racing about in their vehicles. It would be wise to be more cautious. “ As interesting as this was, and as comforting as it was to talk to another person, Margaret thought it best that he resume his normal life. There was nothing left for them to discuss. He had no idea why they could communicate and she didn’t think it was likely this ability would persist.

“You should probably sleep.” She added, shoving her hands into the hidden pockets of her black skirt. Unless he had any more questions about witches, which was likely, but his medication would also likely be kicking in. He needed to rest or those injuries would take even longer to heal than normal.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Sat Jul 05, 2014 9:06 pm

by Requiem

Ashton shook his head slowly, regretting the motion as soon as the muscles in his neck strained to comply. "Not really. I'm more into science-fiction... You know, like, futuristic stuff? Have you ever read Ender's Game? The author's apparently a real dick, but..." Stop while you're ahead, Ash that inner voice of reason suggested. Does she look like someone who reads Orson Scott Card? He could only assume that, despite her ephemeral nature (and whatever the hell ghosts were made of), if she could push a bike out of traffic, she could pick up a paperback.

"Anyway, I was just trying to clarify... I mean, I know about witches in general. I'm pretty sure they're a... race, or a class or something on World of Warcraft. Ever hear of that?" Her blank and impatient expression was answer enough. "Yeah, okay, I don't play it either... But I didn't think the whole 'magic' thing actually existed."
Of course, up until a few hours ago, he hadn't really considered the existence of ghosts, either. But how, exactly, would he be inherently 'aware' of it? He meant to ask, but the subject had already changed.

Since her death was a topic she didn't seem comfortably discussing, he didn't pry any further, but his curiosity was far from sated. She couldn't just show up in his life like this and expect him to take it in stride, could she? "No offense, but I don't really need a lecture on bike safety..." This was the second time she'd berated him, and he already felt like an idiot, and Lacie already felt bad. If she wanted to get technical, it was the distracting conversation on his cell phone that had kept him from properly seeing what was ahead of him. Needless to say, it would be the last time he kept his cell phone on while pedaling around the city (if he managed to find a replacement bike, assuming his other one was beyond repair).

The witch was right about the drugs in his bloodstream. Whatever the nurse had given him for the pain, it had worked; the pounding in his head had lulled to a dull throb, and his ribs didn't ache quite so badly. Sleep sounded like a pretty good idea, all things considered.
Except for one little thing, that he knew would bother him when he woke up...

"...hey, Maggie. Do me a favour?" Ashton's eyelids were already starting to close, the food on the tray next to him all but entirely forgotten. His sleepy gaze studied Margaret's face, and the only thing he could think was, how could someone who wasn't even there look so sold? The shape of her face, her form, the clothes in which she was clad... To his eyes, she was just like anyone else who might happen to walk into his hotel room. "If you're already following me around... stick around for when I wake up. I don't want to think this was all just some drug-induced trip... I've got enough things to worry about in my life. I don't want my sanity to be one of them."

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Sun Jul 06, 2014 9:42 am

by Simply

Telling him about witches could take quite a long time. There were a number of different aspects and components of magical abilities. Some people were extremely limited in what they could do and others possessed nearly every power under the sun…well, at least the used to. “I suppose you could call them a race,” Margaret said ‘them,’ not us. She was careful that way. If she said us, then he might start asking even more question. It may lead him down the path that led to curiosities about her death. She didn’t like to speak of it, even if she would occasionally visit the site of her own grave, having watched her flesh decompose and her bones be steadily buried under dirt, trampled by unknowing passersby.

“Not at all like World of Warcraft.” She responded, licking her lips as though there was a possibility that they were dry. She had watched a young boy play it for twenty-seven hours straight once. He clearly had no concept of how short his life was. Shaking her head at the memory, she examined the irritation on his face. “And no offense, but it’s evident that you do need a lecture. The young woman stared directly into his eyes and she shimmered for a moment. Looking back towards the window, her gaze was met with a flicker of lightening and a subsequent rumble of thunder.

His words broke through her contemplation and she turned back to him. “Hmm?” She murmured, half-heartedly in their conversation. As she focused her sights on him, she observed the closing of his eyes, the heaviness of sleep lurking behind his unsteady gaze. It was adorable, the way he was trying to fight the sedative effects of the drug. Her lip curled upward in an amused smile and she nodded. “Sure, but don’t be surprised if you can’t see me anymore. It may just be pressure from any swelling against your brain. Once the anti-inflammatories take their desired effects, whatever part of your brain is allowed you access to my plane…well, it might be gone.”

A shrug lifted her shoulders and Margaret continues, “You can just shrug me off as a hallucination and move on with your life. Though, I promise, I’m far too complex to be fabricated by some twenty-year old boy with an inability to ride a bike.” She smirked slightly and settled into one of the chairs at the side of the bed. She drew her knees up and although the cushion gave no signs that she was present, she felt comforted by the fact that she would have been quite cozy if she had been alive.

Brown eyes watched as he drifted off into unconsciousness, carried by the weight of the medications in his system. Margaret sat there in quite contemplation for the first two hours, wondering how he could see her. It was possible, as she had said, that it was some pressure against a portion of his brain that was capable of accessing the plane she resided on – though that was unlikely. She knew powerful mediums that couldn’t readily see every ghost that had hovered in this world – particularly herself Something about being present in this realm for so long made her more resistant to magical contact.

She waited another four hours and grew bored watching his breath rise and fall. She strolled out into the hallway, passing through different rooms and watched as the auras of people flickered in and out of life.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Sun Jul 06, 2014 3:27 pm

by Requiem

"You've played World of Warcraft?" It was one of the first questions that came to mind, when the feminine spirit exhibited familiarity with the MMO RPG. The very thought struck him as funny, and a small smile played on his lips. Ghosts who play video games... Or maybe she'd just seen others play. Either way, it was a novel concept, and if he weren't so tired, and if he didn't hurt so much, he might have chuckled a little. Whether or not she intended it, Maggie was amusing.

Not that Ashton was too out of it to be offended, however, and he wrinkled his nose at her comment about his ability (or inability) to ride a bike--and his age. "Hey... I'm twenty-one," he murmured slowly, heavy lids closing as sleep approached fast. "I can ride a damn bike... can't help the damn traffic..."
And that was the last he spoke, before he slipped into a heavy, drug-induced unconsciousness.

When he woke up, several hours later, he had no idea where he was.

First off, it took Ash a few minutes to even realize he was awake. The bustle of morning hospital staff outside the door was what encouraged him to open his eyes, and momentarily, his heart spiked at the unfamiliar surroundings. This was not his bed, not his home, and these were definitely not the comfy T-shirt and pajama pants that he wore to bed. His overactive imagination was almost ready to conclude he'd been abducted by aliens, until his fuzzy vision cleared, and the events of the previous day came back to him.

It was all thanks to the throb in his head and the ache in his ribs that tipped him off, when he struggled to remember how the hell he'd ended up in the hospital. Something to do with his bike, a borrowed textbook, rush hour traffic and...
That girl. Right, there was a girl, only she was... Dead? A ghost? And then his next thought: had she been real at all, or some drug-induced hallucination.

Well, he sure as hell didn't see her now. The room was empty.
"...hey, Maggie?" He spoke in a low voice, almost a whisper, recalling the nickname he'd given her. But that was as far as he'd push: she'd either respond, or she wouldn't. He wasn't about to take his concusses head and broken ribs all around Fredericton looking for someone who might not even exist...

Scratch that, of course it was. Disregarding the grueling performance schedule; not mentioning the weekly pickup rehearsals and the hour or so spent signing autographs and posing for pictures at stage door; discounting the five hours spent in the makeup chair each night and the half hour it took to warm up in his dressing room; ignoring his complete inability to maintain a healthy social life, as well as the lamentable fact that he hadn't dated steadily in almost ten years, playing the eponymous role in The Phantom of the Opera was pretty damn spectacular. Who else could boast of successfully crashing the same masquerade ball repeatedly; of sending down a chandelier, or shooting bursts of fire from his hands; of getting to kiss a beautiful ingénue by candlelight in the heat of a passionate exchange, every night, as if it was their first?

Who else could get away with murder?

No, Eric was living his dream, if not the dream of every high baritone who had ever struggled to make it in this industry. Even five hours pinned daily beneath a makeup brush felt like a promenade at the park. It was just another ritual, and actors were creatures who thrived on ritual. Besides, it gave him a much-needed pause in his hectic schedule to sit and think.

With increasing frequency, he thought of Charlotte.

As today's makeup artist began to meticulously apply his prosthetics, Eric allowed his mind to wander in the familiar direction of his costar. He watched his reflection in the mirror as his handsome features receded behind a head mold, blended and distorted beyond all that was recognizably human, and thought idly that it felt like a homecoming. He spent more time beneath the mask these days than he did out from underneath it.

Wedged into the mirror's frame was a portrait of Charlotte, in-costume and in-character, gazing demurely out from beneath her corkscrew extensions; beside the photograph, a lipstick kiss imprinted on the glass surface. There was a directness to her gaze now, the shadow of a leading lady's confidence, that he didn't remember from their first meeting. She hadn't been a leading lady, then…

… nor he a leading man. Inspector Javert, while no small role, was still hardly the most sympathetic character of Schönberg's piece, and certainly a lot less likable than the coveted part of ex-convict Jean Valjean. Eric had been in the running for the latter of the two roles until the casting director at callbacks had branded him 'too young' to believably carry a part that had traditionally gone to tenors ten to twenty years his senior. Thus, an older man had been cast as Valjean, with Eric relegated to the part of Javert. Not that he minded—like any actor, he was just happy to be gainfully employed, and borderline ecstatic to be given the opportunity to portray a multilayered character he could really sink his teeth into. Self-loathing son of a whore? Check. Lurking in a lifelong morally gray mire? Check. Two show-stopping solos? Just ask the audience.

Because when Eric sang, he brought the house down.

He remembered the day he first laid eyes on Charlotte. Or rather, hadn't. The girl had been in full costume with the rest of them, her messenger cap pulled so far down over her face she was sure to get harangued during notes if Eric didn't run interference for her. As the ensemble all stood packed tightly on stage, preparing for their first dress rehearsal together, Eric had reached over with his constable's stick and nudged the bill of Charlotte's cap up for her.

"Eponine," he had whispered a greeting, already half in-character, "open that face up before I book you."

It had been their first rehearsal together, he and her. Since their characters shared no stage time save for one or two mob scenes in the second act, their work until then had always been scheduled on different days. Eric had heard things, though: about how she, like him, was considered young for her part, and that she was a soprano. Oh yes, he had heard things about her voice.

And she hadn't disappointed.

Hat-tampering quickly evolved into a favorite pastime. Whether it was pushed too far up or too far forward or fixed perfectly dead center, it was never beyond his power to adjust it. Generally, he preferred to see it list more to one side, mussing her already teased hair until the hat assumed the exact angle of crookedness that drove their director nuts. It was more "street" that way, Eric had argued. He had never won the argument.

Somewhere along the way, they became friends.

And, five months ago, their paths had crossed again. They had clapped eyes on each other in the casting room, and—he couldn't remember anymore, had it been him or her?—well, one of them had run straight to the other, and somehow Charlotte had wound up swept up into Eric's arms. He had spun her wildly around, laughing, as if they were lovers formerly divided under the worst circumstances. They had both been overjoyed to encounter a friendly face in a room of packed full of cutthroats, and they took that off-stage chemistry and blew their callback clean out of the water. It was then that Eric found that the impossible had occurred: Charlotte's already rapturous voice had improved beyond all recognition in their time apart. She didn't sing like a girl anymore; she didn't even sing like a woman. She sang like an angel.

And they had rarely spent time apart since.

True to form, they had already fallen into another pre-show ritual, and today he was running late. Eric thanked his attendant and eased out of his chair, sweeping out the door and down the hallway in full costume as giggling members of the corps de ballet dodged around him. Arrows in glow tape marked his route as he escaped the dimly-lit hall and plunged into the murky darkness of the theatre. His senses kicked into overdrive, his ears picking up the collective murmur of the audience on the other side of the curtain as the orchestra shifted and tuned their instruments in the pit below. It was still a half hour to places.

More than enough time to find her.

He knew she was in the lair already; he could tell before he arrived. At first, it was just a few snatched notes as he rounded the Hannibal set; his hand slipped from the elephant's flank, and he followed the reel of music blind, his mind unconsciously putting words to the percussive chiming of the notes…

Masquerade…

And there she was, seated on the steps by the lake. Eric hugged the shadows close to the organ set piece and watched as Charlotte cradled the show's iconic music box in her lap, her finger delicately catching at the key as it spun around and around. He waited until the song played itself out, stranding her in a mute netherworld, before filling the sudden silence with a much deeper refrain of his own:

"Little Lotte, let her mind wander…"